Squills

This spring has been particularly chilly and gloomy, more Twin Peaks than the usual roaring Midwestern spring with its confusing ups and downs. But the plants are getting a slow, steady dose of rain and they are gently emerging from the clay (it's all clay here, folks). In a fauna parallel, the little peepers in the cattails nearby have begun their high froggy white noise. It's all very soothing.

Yesterday, my MIL came over for dinner, as she often does on Mondays. The sun was starting to go down behind the thick layer of clouds that has sat over us for the past week or so, and a few raindrops were falling. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I noticed something tiny and white under the Japanese maple in the front yard. I excused myself and dashed outside, kneeling down.

It was the striped squills, Puschkinia. They were so delicate and small and beautiful, white with a pale stripe down the center, in little clusters. Not far from them, the deep blue Siberian squills bloomed.

It was so heartening to see something... working. Doing what was expected. Coming up and blooming. I feel like I've been on an endless, trudging walk lately. There is always more work to do, no matter how I push to cross things off my academic to-do list. There are the requisite rejection letters that are slowly trickling in regarding my book proposal. There's the endless IF death march. It was nice to see something that was just--done. And done so beautifully.