Small is beautiful

Writing this gives me reason to observe. At the moment, each day reveals some new wave of buds, leaves, flowers and blossom. The garden succession is obvious; each species blooms, the snowdrops then daffodils, hyacinths then tulips that man has bred for engorged flowers. But the unkempt verges and field edges have their own quiet pattern. At the moment the delicate purple and white flowers of dead nettles are ubiquitous (did I dream that as children we would suck these for their nectar?) and I see now that they resemble tiny wings, raised to welcome still winter-drowsy bees.