Look, what we have here. Snowdrops, February Fair Maids, poking their heads up and having a quick look around to see if the reports they have heard of snow moving in from the east (or was it west), have any substance. It is hard to give them and exact answer. ‘Don’t know’ won’t do because there are flurries of snow around and, wherever they thought no one would notice, they have left small patches of white. I’d hardly go as far as to call it snow fall, it’s more like a light dusting of castor sugar.
Wordsworth did Daffodils – so you could be fairly sure that he would do Snowdrops and he did, he wrote two poems, ‘ON SEEING A TUFT OF SNOWDROPS IN A STORM’ and ‘TO A SNOWDROP’. A great many poets have done snowdrop poems.
Snowdrops come originally, in common with almost everything else in our gardens, it would seem, from Crimea. They were probably brought here around that time when the British thought they owned it all and wandered the globe taking plants and marbles indiscriminately – with completer disregard for Health and Safety Regulations.
The Photographer’s Lament To A Snowdrop
Hello, Snowdrops. Where’d you think your growing?
There’s no point having your flowers up here, if it’s snowing.
It might be ‘Well cool!’ to stick up through a blanket of snow,
but white flowers on a white background – just don’t show.
There you go, Will – what do you and Dorothy think of that?