Yesterday was the first day of spring. I found this lone flower blooming in a pot of greenery by my kitchen window. Isn’t it lovely? Oh, harbinger of new and reawakening life. Oh, beacon of joy. This is the stuff that stirs poets to pen.
Except that this is my Thanksgiving cactus which ordinarily produces its pink-tinged blossoms and white translucent wings in November, and it did not disappoint four months ago when it was awash with blooms. In all the years that I have had it, it has never flowered in spring. Nor has it ever only presented a single bloom.
This morning there was snow. By the afternoon it was gone. Harbinger of doom? Who knows? I do think we should all hang on to our hats; come summer we may be in for a hot, bumpy ride.