Friday, May 13, 2011

It’s Time For Bluebells

April Showers Bring May Flowers

{{ And my birthday brings bluebells. }}

April is a finicky month in Pennsylvania. Bouts of flurries mingle with streaks of heat forcing residents to alternate apparel between winter sweaters and summer shorts. I remember preparing to store away my winter clothes after several days of sunshine only to relinquish once again and throw on a turtle neck to bear the grid of winter’s endurance.

But despite severely oscillating weather patterns, infallibly the bluebells would emerge in our garden on time to beckon in the official arrival of spring, and subsequently, my birthday (April 30).

Bluebells are martyrs. They emblazon the stark gray of winter once again with the hues of life. Tiny, blue trumpets cluster together around a sturdy green stem slightly arching to bear the weight as the flowers continue to bloom. Their bloom is fleeting, only lasting two weeks on average: suddenly coating the floor of the garden with an ankle-high rug of indigo and departing as abruptly as they arrived.

As a girl, I always looked for bluebells to denote the official defeat of winter and to celebrate another birthday.

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