In the back garden, I bend over with abandon, confident that no one can see over the fence to see my broadside sticking up in the air while I'm looking down at a little snowdrop which came up and flowered unexpectedly last week.
"Pretty little snowdrop. Are you confused? I just planted you a month or so ago. Didn't expect to see you until late February. Will you come back again in the spring or is this it until spring of 2017?"
I saw another snowdrop, also just planted, in the front garden. Don't think for one minute I leaned over with my broadside toward the street. Wait, never mind. I might have broken my rule about not leaning over with my bum to the street.
But I can be forgiven for that, can't I? There was a snowdrop blooming in November. Of course. Bygones. And most of the neighbors are indoors at this time of year. No one saw.
Back in the back garden, I've also been peering down at the Christmas roses, Helleborus niger.
I'll also be happy if I see the blooms on this Camellia.
I've never grown Camellias before and I don't know anyone who has done so around these parts, so I'm making it up as I go, with some help from a book, Beyond the Camellia Belt: Breeding, Propagating, and Growing Cold-Hardy Camellias by William L. Ackerman. I need to re-read the part about what to do when your camellia is in full bud and winter is just around the corner.
Dear Mother Nature,
I know winter is officially arriving in just a few weeks, but I need another couple of nice days, preferably on Saturdays and Sundays, so I can finish raking a few leaves and cut back some of the perennials, especially the rampant self-sowers. Once I'm finished, I promise to still come out to the garden on a regular basis, to bend over and peer down at those places where snowdrops, crocuses, hellebores, and even camellias are supposed to bloom. Did I mention camellias? If you don't think I deserve a few more nice days, please provide them for the camellias. Thank you.