In the gap between the end of the tulips and the start of the poppies and the peonies, we can bathe in the lush growth of May.
In February there was bare earth, just the odd clump of snowdrops. The growth in March was ankle-high, with crocuses and primroses. April, knee-high, with the tulips.
In May it takes off. ‘Growth spurt’ is an understatement. I turn my back for a moment and the borders are waste-high in lush growth. There are greens of every hue: lime-green, apple-green, mint-green. Jades and blue-greens; rich burgundy and crimson too.
Every inch is filled, leaves fanning out to share the space, making the most of every drop of sunlight. They seem to bounce off one another, radiating energy and exuberance.
Every where you look, you are peering through new leaves and blossom.
You can practically hear it growing, crackling with energy.
The tamed meets the wild, and boundaries blur.
There is a fluttering indecision: we are unable to decide where to alight next.
There are surprises every hour, as petals uncurl, burst into life.
There is movement. Dancing, swaying in the breeze.
There are waiting doves, sunning their backs. We coo with them.
There are sparkling jewels, held on coiling tendrils:
In the space of an hour, the textures and hues change.
Buds ripen, and swell. There is so much to come. A pregnant pause.