The bluebells in my garden have thrust their flower spikes towards the sun and opened their blooms. They are plentiful in my garden, some surprising me for the first time, but it’s a particular patch that draws my attention. They are the bulbs I transplanted from my father’s garden.
His garden was fronted by a low brick fence that went from the edge of the driveway to the neighbour’s boundary. A bed of roses was behind that fence and it was underplanted with bluebell bulbs. There were hundreds of them and they seemed to multiply every year. It was a stunning sight each spring. I wonder if they are still there?
I dug up a handful of those bulbs and planted them in my garden. They’ve formed a small colony of their own and, as I look at them today, I remember where they originally grew.
Life goes on.