After all, pre-spring is a rather depressing time. Warmth comes slowly, the roads are either slippery or wet, “and it is dull and sad, and there is no one to give you a hand...”
And somehow there is too much sorrow in the news feed(((
True, there are joys too. For example, photographs from gardeners and vegetable growers — pure creation and renewal! Seedlings are flourishing, crocuses are blooming)) Against the background of reports about yet another tree being cut down or cut back, such photographs look doubly romantic. And positive. “Our answer to Chamberlain.” So I too decided to put two sprouted bulbs in water — to make, so to speak, my own contribution to greening the off-season. I used to have many flowers, although I preferred growing non-flowering plants, so that I could suddenly be wildly delighted if they unexpectedly bloomed))
I have always had a light hand: whatever I stuck into the soil would sprout. In that way I grew a lemon, a mandarin, and a pomegranate from seeds of fruit we had eaten. Later, when a cat appeared in the house — a great lover of sleeping in flowers and eating them — the flowers emigrated in various directions, and with them went my interest in indoor gardening. What remained were a Benjamin ficus, a round begonia as a memory of a still life painted in my youth, and a simple little plant recommended for keeping in a room after renovation or near freshly made furniture, to remove all sorts of smells, the side effects of renewal. And a pitiful little geranium also took root in the house because of its endurance and love of life: abandoned for the whole summer without care or affection, it nevertheless waited for its hard-hearted mistress, for which I now cherish it whenever I remember. My interest in growing any sort of home greenery has now narrowed exclusively to sprouting two rather pitiful-looking bulbs))
But spring is spring. “And every stump, on a spring day...” well, you remember.
But one longs for flowers. True, in this I am a fairly capricious young lady: now I want irises, now tulips, now green onions (see above). Right now I want peonies. And lilies of the valley. No, not lilies of the valley — I want buttercups. Or perhaps it is simply the desire for a dream. One wants what is unavailable. I used to want strawberries all year round. Now there are neither strawberries nor the desire. Except perhaps peonies))
And now you look out of the window as if at a clock: how much has ticked by out there? Is it spring yet?
Do you know? Have you already looked? Wake up — look out of the window, water the crocuses))
Or at least put bulbs with little green — T9 suggests: eyes, hair — shoots into water))
Good morning, my creators! And to you, cutters-down and loppers-off — no good morning at all!
