It's been a slow starter, this summer. We had snow in April, and have had wind and rain and grey skies ever since. Occasionally we have a day of sunshine and then it's glorious, but the following day it returns to the type of cold overcast day more familiar in march or october than June.
One thing I've noticed, though is that nobody has told the plants that summer hasn't come, they are still coming along beautifully waiting and hoping. It's as if they know something that we don't. My tomato plants are flowering bravely, confident that there will be a burst of summer sun to ripen their fruits, the trees are all in glorious leaf waiting to provide relieving shade for the passers by. And then there's the lavender. On my walk from home to the bus stop, and from the bus stop to work I pass lavender bushes. The ones near my home have just this week burst into flower. Bees are buzzing away merrily and the flower heads sway gracefully in the not-so-summery breeze. The lavender bushes by my workplace are a little more reserved. They've been in bud for weeks now, but haven't had the courage yet to venture out. Perhaps they, like me, are unconvinced that this summer will be any better than last summer. Every day the lavender and I size each other up - they're still not flowering, I'm still wearing long sleeves and a jacket. Obviously the time isn't right yet.
Perhaps in the next week or two the weather will improve and both I and the lavender will be persuaded to relax a little and enjoy the sunshine. Just not yet, apparently.
