Spring Break

Winter.

Here in the good old USA, numerous folk are “enjoying” the style of winter that is often considered the exclusive domain of International Falls, Minnesota and their robust Canadian friends further north.  Temperatures are brutally cold, well south of freezing, accompanied by ye olde insidious wind chill and ample amounts of that white stuff that wanted to be rain before Mr. Freeze squeezed its little liquid heart. While the Canucks and Minnesotans may shrug it off, for those less accustomed to this winter thuggery I offer a Spring Break – a reminder of things to come.

It was a grey spring morning in Portland, the air filled with a barely there misty version of Oregon rain. Falling at the end of May, spring flowers had the time to burst out in their fullness, and the roses of summer had begun to bloom. Foxglove’s trumpets blared out their siren call, “look at me, look at me!”

(Click on pictures for larger version)

My wife and I had a short errand that morning, close enough to be walking distance through the neighborhood.  While wandering along, we saw delicate dewy drops decorating the plant life – I knew I had to make a second outing dedicated to capturing it, camera in hand.

The first roses of the season were showing their intricate curls and swirls, natures engineering masterpiece unfolding in front of us. Tiny droplets provided magnifying glasses, blending light to show shades of bright colors.

The lesser flowers too had their day, inviting us for a closer visit, or as they might say, “dew drop in.”

In the season’s abundance, a Japanese Lace Leaf Maple wrestled with the ferns for space. We, the onlookers enjoying the colors and patterns were the winners.

A daylily gave its own impression of the sun rising through the darkness, making a colorful day of a green night.

The shimmer of wet rocks begs the question: why does the moisture make a flat shine on rocks and bead up on the flowers?  It’s a mistery.

A solution: perhaps the inhabitant of this tiny house provides the artistry, coming out in the soft rains and morning dew to build tiny goblets of water, held together by surface tension and the magic of life.

Even my front door rosebush, once encased in ice, gets in on the act.  No doubt it is scheming on converting that liquid gold into its delicate perfume.

A tower of lupine stands guard over its leaves; they in turn brew the drinks.

What do you call a herd of flowers?  A “bunch” of Yellow Loosestrife seems a tad mundane and unimaginative considering the visual effect.

But what’s this? A rose, encased in ice, frozen in time? Grist for Beauty and the Beast?

No, just me taking artistic license.  It was originally a pale pink, with leaves of green.  This poses a question: should I take artistic license more often, or continue to simply enhance what is there?

And as the day wore on, the morning mists departed and the dewy jewels providing flowery tiaras evaporated away in the warmth of the afternoon.

So too, for those of you who are confusing your fingers with icicles; a time of warming is nigh.  Winter will ease its icy grip, and you’ll be able to enjoy your own Spring Break.