In the fall, ewtikins gave me a bucket full of dirt with a newly transplanted quince tree offshoot in it. In December it died down to a stick in a bucket. It might have survived had I ever transplanted it to a pot with real drainage. I meant to return the bucket, but never got around to it. Today, en route to see ewtikins for the first time in a while, I glanced outside. The quince stick was touched with greening buds, returning to life in its own little swamp.
Daffodils are in full bloom, splashes of yellow in parks and parking lots. I begruded the first shoots of crocuses in Cornwall, in Eden, at the beginning of January. It's harder to begrudges daffodils in late February when the temperatures are those of spring.
Sorbets and ice creams are good year round, but best in the warmth. I'd hardly call this week warm, but it had sorbet in it. I'm still thinking of nou's first attempt at sorbet, a lovely, light, tart, well-balanced lime one, refreshing and intense.
I had tea with austengirl yesterday. Miraculously, we were both fifteen minutes early. We talked of Smith and visas and friends while a gentle spring rain fell outside.
Happy birthday, SmithKatie! I associate you with spring, thanks to standing in the middle of a snowstorm at the Hampshire Mall, singing all the spring songs we could think of while waiting for the much-delayed bus.