After the winter that never happened: the coldest spring here in Europe. I’m in France today. The irises are out, fulsome purple against blue-green spikes. The garrigue is in blossom, dark splashes of wild lavender, washes of pale violet thyme, bright pink rock roses, asphodel, limey euphorbia, blood-red poppies, pale yellow daisies as big as a child’s hand and tiny narcissi. The closer you get to the ground, the more detail becomes apparent — tiny purple orchids, sky-coloured forget-me-nots, wild pink peas. There’s been one good day; the rest of weekend has been cold and overcast. But with darkened, slatey skies, the blossoms’ colours sing. And after each rain shower, the scent is glorious.
And then there’s the hum of insects when the Sun does come out, butterflies — burnt orange, teal, white, faded denim.
Everything has come at once this year, because of the warm winter and cold spring. The quince tree in my mother’s garden is covered with more blossom than any other year I can remember — a bumper crop maybe? All that’s needed is a little fair weather. And astrologically, May looks set fair — a month to get on with the joys of life while Mars, Saturn and Pluto are sleeping…
To go to the horoscopes, click here.