It’s raining. I like the sound of rain, but just noticed that I’ve not heard it in months. This isn’t such a big deal. I’m from Calif. (mostly) and we can go nine months between rains. This is, of course, a thunderstorm; which makes me think of being a child in Ohio, or of summer at my father’s, in Tenn.
But this is NY/NJ, where precipitation is much more common. But this has been winter, and snow is quit; which rain isn’t.
Spring is here. My grape had bud-break a couple of weeks ago, though the nighttime temps weren’t warm enough to put it, or the bonsai olive, nor yet the etrog, outside until Monday. I put some tulip, and crocus in the ground today (and trimmed the plants in the front of the building, as well as spending a couple of hours on Monday attacking the forsythia in the back… that is a project. What I realised is that, as a Californian I don’t ask, “will it grow?”, but rather, “will it take over?”).
I’ve got rosemary, and oregano, and basil, in pots, and a couple of gardenias. All but the Basil will overwinter, if I bring them inside. The tulips and hyacinths I bought for inside color will go out front; and I’ll plant some Calif. poppies (in the hope of one of those little touches of home Ex-pats like to keep about them, as the Scot will have a pot full of heather). Spring is come, and the seasons turn and more than autumn, and New Years, and the like I am aware of having spent another year in my new home.