Stair Rods

Woken up to a dull silence, everything is sodden. Faint patters from lingering drops leaves little room for the birds morning acoustics. Even with the curtains drawn I can tell it’s going to be a sluggish day, the type where morning reluctantly slumps into afternoon and retires to evening, all in the same colour swatch of grey.

The garden is prone to flooding and during last nights downpours all I could think about was if I’d managed to relocate the more sensitive of the potted plants, namely the succulents and bulbs, to a more suitable home. A mental roll call of the garden ensued, akin to counting sheep.

As I fretted over the newly emerging spring bulbs I couldn’t help thinking about how growing up, such a downpour would be described as ‘stair rods’—the thin metal poles which were used on stairs to keep carpets in place. Certainly a phenomenon which could be as frequent as shorts and sandals days, even in summer. In California, however, they’re met with storm warnings, flash flooding, and general excitement over getting some ‘weather’. A feeling shared by the plants too I’m sure.

Arriving at the garden I realise the worry was all for nothing. There’s a general sogginess, and a few puddles, but more than that there’s an absolute vividness to the space. Emerald to pistachio—the fuzzy grey hanging between them seems to make the shades echo all the more.

Arriving home the birds seem to have found their voice again and warming up with a cup of tea I notice tinged pink tips on the cherry tree just outside the window - spurred on by the stair rods, with its eyes set on Spring, just like the rest of us.