I had been pinning my vague sense of unease and discouragement these past weeks on the weather: on the dry and the wind and the swinging of temperatures from too warm to too cold.
But when I saw clusters of pasqueflowers this afternoon, I thought, Oh, at last. That’s what I needed to see.
Pasqueflowers (Pulsatilla patens) are usually the first of our wildflowers to appear, sometimes as early as mid-March. We spotted a single flower near the house weeks ago, but it had vanished the next day, presumably into the maw of a deer. I can’t begrudge the critter its grazing, but when I failed to see any more buds or flowers in any of the places they usually appear, I began to fret. The winter was dry, and spring has been as well. Could there be such a thing as a season too dry for pasqueflowers?
That’s a despairing thought, although I suppose it’s possible.
Not this year, though. Whether they’ve been biding their time for a favorable swing in the erratic weather or were encouraged by the bit of precipitation that’s fallen in the last ten days, the pasqueflowers are here, and they’re pouring on the charm. The bees are happy to visit the poufs of yellow pollen inside the fuzzy lavender cups, and if I am brought to my knees, surely that’s only because it’s the best way to get a picture.