Catkins

Day 155: I went out to the garage today, purposing to pot up the rooted pussywillow twigs which had been living in a Mason jar in my kitchen window since late January, and after having done so, I lined them up against the side of the building for a commemorative photo. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a few flecks of something silvery caught in the branches of an earlier pussywillow start which had seldom put on more than two or three catkins. "Wait a minute!" I said to self, "Silver?" and glanced around to see several branches bearing a few soft grey buds.

Pussywillows elsewhere around here are done, their catkins gone to long, drooping strands laden with yellow pollen. March is not pussywillow season, not at all. And yet there was the evidence on the bush: catkins, soft and silvery in the dismal light of afternoon, as if to acknowledge the newly potted twigs, "Oh, I see you've come to join me. I'll dress for the occasion." It was certainly a surprise for me, and now I trust that I will never have a shortage of pussywillows again, although I don't think I can expect to see them bloom in January as everyone else's do.