When I left Colorado, more than twenty years ago, one of my biggest reasons was because of lilacs. I love flowers and lilacs are among my favorites; yet almost without fail we would get a heavy snowstorm just as the lilacs were getting ready to bloom. I was delighted to see a small lilac shrub here in my Wyoming yard when I moved in last fall. The buds are getting close to bursting forth into delicate, vibrant purple flower clusters, but another freeze is expected on Friday and Saturday. It is a cruel trick that Winter plays almost every year in this part of the country, but I have grown wise to his mean streak. I know that Spring will be here and gone in the blink of an eye, to be followed by her friend, Summer. If the seasons were children, Spring would be the timid one, sweet and endearing, while her siblings – Summer, Autumn, and Winter – vie for attention.
Spring will always be my favorite time of year, however short lived and subtle her arrival. The early bulbs that so bravely emerge, even on the coldest of late winter days, are food for the soul after the long fast of winter. The trees that blossom in unison are a pure delight; but they are gone all too soon when the wind whips up, causing flower petals to float like soft rain from the sky.
I have worked mostly outside for the past one third of my life, so keeping an eye on the weather has become a habit for me. I am prepared for whatever surprises Winter still has up his sleeve. I will cover the lilac bush with a large sheet to protect it from frost. It will look ghostly under the waning moon, but the fragile blossoms will still have the chance to flaunt their heavenly scented fragrance. And I will get to wear lilacs in my hair one more time.
