In a gap between weather extremes, I went to look at the garden. The dandelions and hawkweed are spreading out their new leaves, enthusiastically, as usual. I ripped handfuls out; their roots were already down a full handslength.
But the primulas are blooming, muddily. And my perennial parsley is back. And everywhere, the early blues are sprouting. Bluebells, hyacinths, crocuses, and maybe a tulip or two; at this stage, I can't tell which is which.
|Bluebells, I think.|
|And my pink hydrangea is budding!|
No complaints, then. The garden likes the weather, so I will, too.