Craziest spring, but I believe I say that every year.
Smelled wood smoke in the air this evening, and that reminded me of a friend who greeted me with a question last week: "So, have the leaves at your place changed yet?" which made both of us chuckle.
Our daffodils have looked tired from the moment they emerged—early—this year. I wonder whether all the up-and-down temperatures contributed to their lassitude. The past couple weeks have been much cooler, though, and we had some rain last weekend, so the later poeticus look lovely. B took a bunch into the office.
All we can do is hang on. No doubt that by June, as Hal Borland says, things will pretty well even out. From the perspective of the summer of 1967 he wrote (after a late, cold, wet spring), "The earth kept spinning, the seasons did follow their eternal sequence, and the urge to sprout and grow didn't even falter."
Still, I worry about the lilacs, which are close to blooming and have a very good chance of being clobbered by temperatures in the 20s tonight. Oh, well.