Frost

We had a long lead in to spring, both cold and also very dry. The cherries had already bloomed at the end of March but everything else was held back so that a burst of sun and showers brought most of the orchard into blossom at the same time. The pears were almost finished, the once sickly quince was thuggish in its glory, all the apples were white clouds and the Old Laughing Lady still had her plum-blossom. The medlars were set. The new mulberry pushed tiny leaflets from the tip of every stem. It was perfect and glorious.

It was doomed. At the beginning of May we woke to a hard frost, as beautiful among the blossom as it was awful to behold. I can't say that I'm immune to the fickle nature of, well, nature, but I managed some detachment and went to study the damage. I will track it over the summer.