Blackbird O'Clock?

 Friday morning I just couldn't stay in bed.  It's been a trying sort of week.  Parents needing care, lots of frustration at work, the awful, miserable angst invoking news....and so I crept out, early to grab a coffee, when I should have stayed in and done useful things or read a book at home.  But then..I would have missed the waking blackbirds, singing and warbling in the trees, by the health centre as I walked over to pick up the car.  Such a beautiful sound and the light was still "proper dimpsy" as good Devonians say.

This morning, after a swim, I sorted life for the parents - mum had a minor foot operation and poor dad needed a slightly more competent cook so I organised lunch for them, drank a glass of their sherry and weeded out the patio and pots of daffodils.  Mum supervised- which means she whinged that I was a little rough on the weeds.  At least she was getting fresh air and must have been feeling a bit better!

My own garden has a mini riot of small daffs, whose beautiful egg yolk yellow peeps above a variety of bought and donated terracotta pots.  Checking them today in a brief respite from weekend chores, I see they have been joined by rhubarb and custard striped mini tulips.  Only a few and more to come, looking at their emerging leaves. It makes life feel worthwhile and I find my energy picking up.

This evening I had a brief stroll to deliver a nearly overdue birthday card.  The street is lined with magnolia trees and around this week in March, every year, they start to emerge.  It brought back a quick flash of memory - two years ago, just pre-pandemic I went to Hidecote gardens and the memory I have is of staring into blue sky, photographing vividly pink magnolias against that standout sky.

The next year, I was walking the same street at Magnolia time, unable to meet friends, worship, work or indeed go out for more than an hour.  Memory is a weird thing.

As I turned the corner into my friends road, I was stopped by the severe pollarding of the trees - they looked like a hammer beam roof - like the ribs of the Mary Rose which I visited a few years ago.  Give them another month or so and they will be clothed in beautiful fresh lime spring green.