I feel like the director of a play that comes but once a year.

I sow the seeds and plant the bulbs. I choreograph the garden, and cast it carefully.

The plants become deeply rooted, nurtured, prepared for their appearance,
comfortable and ready.

The cast slowly emerge, in their beautiful wardrobe of colour and flowing petal,
attracting an orchestra of humming insects and whistling birds.

They have arrived with their heads held high, brave and new, and over the weeks they perform,
dancing on the breeze.

Periodically, a weed tries to steal the limelight, but by this time, the stars of the show are in full bloom,
towering above the weeds causing them to trail under their leaves.

Weeks pass, it has all become so familiar, a poignant moment arrives as the clouds cast a shadow over
the spotlight of the sun, and you realise that the performance is nearing it's end.

And then, the curtain call.

The flowers take a bow, and gently the petals fall.

The costume is put back onto the compost heap until next year.