The wattle is flowering, the skinny one in my garden, bending itself to get around the jacaranda, and the half a dozen trees out on the street, which were planted by my neighbour, Kevin. There is something wonderful about this unabashed, overflowing abundance of bright yellow against the blue sky. The scent sweetens the air. There are more flowers than leaves, it seems.
I thought it was the rain that triggered flowering in wattles but it hasn’t rained that much this winter. Nothing is that simple. Perhaps there are multiple triggers.
