It’s only the 17th of February but this week, here in the Charente, it feels like Spring. It’s chilly in the mornings, sometimes only a degree or two above freezing, but by the afternoon, after a few hours of bright sun shining down from a blue, blue sky, the air has warmed up to 14 degrees, or more.
Under the mulberry tree, for the last few years, we’ve been planting crocus bulbs every autumn. The first of them appeared this week. I mean, just look at the richness of those purple petals opening up to reveal the golden treasure within!

At first there were just half a dozen of them, but day by day, more have appeared, purples, yellows, whites, little petals, big, bold, look at me petals! They are delightful.

Look at them when the sun sets their golden stamens and pistils on fire! When those delicate little triads cast those shadows on the veined purple petals!
Here’s another one, this time, white

Two sets of three petals, one behind the other, and in the middle, three yellow stamens at the base of a deep, orange, pistil. The gorgeous shadows stretching up from the splash of yellow at the base of each petal, up towards its milky white peak.
This is a flower in all it’s glory. That central female pistil, it’s three stigma (what’s the plural of stigma?) opening to the highway down to the ovary, surrounded by three male stamens.
Is three the magic number?
I see it repeated, layer after layer, here.
As I sit under the mulberry tree reading a book in the afternoon sun, I hear a deep buzzing sound and look up to see a huge, jet black, carpenter bee, flying from crocus to crocus, collecting delicious nectar and pollen, flower by flower. The sun catches the bee’s wings which shine with an iridescent purple sheen. Stunning.
There’s something deeply entrancing, delightfully awe inspiring, about the simplest, smallest, everyday events.

It feels like Spring.