Times Flying

The stages of spring pass so quickly even for those of us who try to make the most of them by observing each day. The flowers of Wood Sorrel will not be seen again until next April and it's a similar story for Bluebell. That day when the woods are suddenly full of warblers happens just once a year as does the hearing of the first Cuckoo.

The span of some of the wild flower stages can be increased by spells of settled weather or prematurely dashed by strong winds and rainstorms, giving each year a character of its own. In some years Rowan trees have an extended period of blooms while in others spring storms disrespectfully trash the creamy displays early.

This week's squalls have shown their effects on Rowan blossoms

Hawthorn is a little more resilient on the leeward side of the tree.

The Cotton Grass sedge that does much to give some relief to the monotony of heathland suffers more than most from a heavy downpour.

In wayside and woodland parts Cow Parsley's improvement of our path sides is anyway coming to an end and beating down by heavy drops falling from the overhanging branches doesn't help much. The Buttercup companions resist more.

But these two complement each other to make one of the year's greatest natural triumphs deserving far more than a comparison with white and yellow lines on the urban roadside.

Each has a special role in the appeal of May's end** the climax of spring. I've already suggested Buttercup is what Wordsworth should have been celebrating in any mention of a golden host. The astonishing detail in Cow Parsley is another miracle that just does not get due recognition.

** we can but hope.