Early bulbs and late bloomers offer distractions over lockdown
Spring shoots, like a dead man’s hand. The first narcissi have broken through their winter grave. A pot full of fingers, reaching for the future. Hope is buried here.
My first bulbs were hyacinths, dangling over water in clear glass, a gift for mothers from primary school. Blue for boys, pink for girls. Much later I grew amaryllis. We don’t have indoor plants any more, but there was once a living-room glade of fig and yucca. My daughter Kala has them now, every few years a more extravagant pot to fit them in. She has the gift of it.
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