[Bit]

Ahhh, Spring has settled into Wichita and shall not be dislodged. In early March, she was still dancing with Winter, and that continued through the whole month. The late-March snowstorm came the next-to-last weekend of March, and then the "weather waves" started, a pattern that includes a bright hot sunny day followed immediately by a big storm from the west which drops the temperature considerably, and is in turn followed by day after day of steadily increasing temperatures until we have a bright hot sunny day followed immediately by a big storm from the West which... well, you get the picture. *smiling*

It's just amazing to me how all our weather comes from the west, rolls in across the ocean and sweeps across the continent. Even when we get what Gryph refers to as an Alberta Clipper--the jet stream dipping south from Canada into the US--it's driven by weather from the west. I haven't yet figured out the significance of this in magical terms, but it doesn't seem to me that it was ever mentioned in any of the teachings I have read or heard about the directions and their symbolism; West=Water, yes, or even the Ocean, but never a word about weather... yet there it is, for a hugely significant part of the northern hemisphere, weather comes from the west. Rain, snow, ice, storms of all kinds; tornadoes, straightline winds, withering droughts, all born in and driven from the west as a function not of Water but of Air, of Wind, ferocious and untamed.

A strange match for the sweet gentleness of the idyllic Summerlands, yes? And yet it took me a while of musing and wondering about it before I caught that connection between the West as Source of Deadly Weather, so to speak, and the Land of the Dead. Maybe it was more obvious to seafaring peoples? Or maybe the Summerlands are just tied in my mind to Avalon, and to popular depictions which conveniently leave out everything about death and skip right to the idyllic afterlife, like some Pagan version of Heaven...

In any case, when Memorial Day comes to the US the last weekend in May, I'll be thinking about the West, and cycles of the weather.

All the trees have taken advantage of the weather waves, and have leafed out. The streets which had been open to the skies are now enclosed, sheltered by mounds of greenery. It started after the last snowstorm, wisps of palest green that suddenly opened into drifting billows, whiter than clouds. They lasted about a week, then as the blossoms dropped faded once again into palest green, opening slowly into the softness of spring greens. Now in the midst of May they've darkened, not quite to summer green but well on the way.

The earliest flowers have all come and gone, many, it must be admitted, victim to roaring lawnmowers. The ground was utterly speckled and peppered with drops of golden sunshine in mid-April. Stems and occasional fluffy seedheads still linger here and there. The dandelion leaves clearly benefitted from their early "harvest" as they're now putting great energy into new growth. The henbit and corn speedwell did not benefit in the same way; an occasional patch still catches the eye but for the most part they're done for the year. Star of Bethlehem responded to early mowings by flowering without leaves, a good month earlier than they flowered last year; whether this is because of the warmer drier spring this year or is solely due to mowing I can't tell. Violets are still growing everywhere and may give us a second flush of blossoms if the lawnmowers don't get them, but I think possibly there hasn't been enough rain for that.

Forsythia was a disapointment to me this year. It bloomed exuberantly all over the neighborhood, but the scent was actually, well, kind of nasty! I mourned the ending of winter when I smelled them.

The exquisite pinks of the redbuds made it a little better. Then the lilacs bloomed for more than a week, and perfumed the air with a heady warm sweetness that totally made up for the snow going away. Now the old-fashioned irises are doing their best to carry on with the job, purple and white alike. The roses have opened and are quickly spending their glory--no weeklong blossoms for them--and the various trees are still spreading sweetness. It started with the maples at mid-March, added early elms, segued into the oaks in early April, paused for a brief but brilliant burst of crabapple with the lilacs, and now is into more elms, the ashes and hackberries.

Half a robin's eggshell sits on Gryph's desk, a reminder that the cycle of birds has changed as well. Gone are the juncos of March, slipped away unnoticed with the crows. Hawks now rule the skies and robins rule the ground, splitting the neighborhood into territories, filling the morning with song from rooftops and treetops alike. The solar music boxes in my neighbor's yard have reverted to mere Arbor Vitae shrubs again, as the sparrows no longer come to the surface to soak up the sun. Indeed, they've moved out into the trees, built nests and laid eggs. The young birds are starting to show up foraging now, their short stubby tails, streaky brown feathers, and innocence charming me every time I see them. One flew up under my broken window screen to land on my kitchen windowsill the other day. No telling who was more amazed when I lifted the curtain and peeked out, her or me! She stayed a while, eyeing me from every angle before deciding to fly away.

Bugs are a subject I wish I could ignore. *sheepish smile* Haven't seen too many mosquitos this year yet, but then it hasn't rained as much as last year AND we started mowing the lawn earlier. Small flies are out, and the ants woke up and started foraging about a week ago. Bees have been awake on and off since the lilacs bloomed; they seemed to really love the henbit but left the lilacs completely alone. The fat brown beetles that hurl themselves at our lighted windows showed up last week, so we started leaving the porch light and living room lights off at night--no more beetles.

Lightning bugs aren't due until next month. I look forward to THEM, lol!

It occurred to me yesterday that once the season has truly changed, I settle into it and look forward to the rest of it. Now that Spring is solidly here and Summer is on her inexorable way, the gardener in me is awake and happy. I suppose this is what it is to live in a four season climate, this constant change, nothing lasting more than a few months, the Wheel always swinging about. It's so strange compared to the 9 months of heat I was used to!

I'm still looking forward to the snow again,
Cath