A Late Gale.

There are two sycamore trees at the bottom of my garden which frame the view across the valley. The one on the right is slightly the smaller of the two, but always comes into leaf first and is a primary harbinger of the burgeoning spring. Its leaves, though small, are now fully open and it looks very beautiful.

But the wind is gusting to gale force today – has been all night – and the small, fresh green leaves are falling like the snow of winter. My garden is littered with unfulfilled promise, and I find that a bit sad.