"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to reap that which is planted" sang the folk-rock group The Byrds in 1965. Of course, they borrowed it from Pete Seeger of the late 1950s who borrowed it heavily from Solomon and the King James version of Ecclesiastes 3:1. No copyright protection there.
Point is, everything has a season, or once upon a time it did. Now it seems one season doesn't blend into another, it's all become a curious farrago of highs and lows and wets and dries. Topsy-turvy, in your face climate change.
Here in the valley, it April-showered into July, then the tap was turned off. Summer lingered to October, then we had frost followed this upcoming week by four days of spring ending in thunderstorms.
One of my rhododendrons started to bloom six months early then changed its mind and ordered a pizza instead.
Charlie Morgan sent me these two above photos of the same dogwood in her yard that has fall colors and fruits AND spring flowers.
I read it's supposed to be a pretty horrid winter. But don't "they" say that every year?
So is it a time to be born or die?
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