The road-side fence is smothered in the white bells of the wonga vine. Our front porch is a sea of swaying jasmine. The plum trees have flowered, the blossoms have fallen and are now in early leaf. My mind, focussed as it is on the seasons, was drawn to a short poem by Meng Haoran, one of the Tang Dynasty superstars of poetry.

Spring Morning

Spring, I am half asleep and do not feel the dawn
But everywhere black birds are crying
Last night I heard the howling wind and rain
Do you know how many blossoms fell?