The Fickle Lady

Flickering, sprinkling, and breezing-early Spring returns to the south. She is a fickle lady in these parts.

Early March is a tricky beast. One bright weekend Snowbirds are roaming the beaches and putting the greens while local, giggling girls sunbathe between the dunes.

Two or three days later, hyacinth heads pushing up through splendid tender rye lay suspended, blanketed in a dusting of blown-in white.

Hours after school is cancelled, roasting children play havoc with disappearing snowmen-puddling in the humid drizzle of winds turned south.

In between, gardeners like me await with eyes of the night before Christmas, the sight of blazing color of bedding plants, flourishing ferns and perennials at roadside markets.

Meanwhile in March, our ditches, fields, and highways, claimed by Springtime in full, explodes in Gentle Hues of pastel splendor.


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