Fortunately, yesterday was that kind of perfect spring day that I remember from my childhood. It was just warm enough to bare your arms, but still had a reasonable chill. So my camera and I took a walk and found the flowers had put on their best for St. George's Day.
The first picture is the narcissus that my grandfather planted about thirty years ago. There was a gentle breeze and the showy little things were flirting about.
I couldn't pass up a close-up. It's no wonder they are named after a mythological character who couldn't stop looking at himself.
The wild violets have taken over in a shady spot in the corner of the garden. To me they are like a free gift that I didn't know I needed but I surely can't do without.
The only pink so far in this bed, this little tuplip seemed like a strumpet surrounded by the narcissus.
These are the pansies I planted last year. At the beginning of March they looked like miniature versions and now they have mounded up and are giving us false hope that they are here to stay.
Even when the vinca doesn't have flowers, I love the shade of green that the leaves have.
More ramblings to come. Today, I head to the country to try to catch spring there before the summer heat pushes her along.
