It's coming up roses, weather-wise. That lovely, too-brief time of year when you pack away the woollies but not the silks; retire the water heater but don't call yet on the ice-maker; sun the pillows and air the quilts — and rush to get them out of the freak rain that reminds you it's not officially spring yet.
What? You say there's no spring in the tropics? Well, tell that to the birds and the trees. The roses aren't done yet, but the bottlebrush has gone a bright, bristling red that threatens a thorough spring cleaning. The spiders are shivering about their webs in the garden. The bulbuls and doves have gotten beyond chatter and coo to quite raucous courtship. And the elusive rose-apple is popping up in small, drab piles that lead us by the nose to roadside vendors.
Oh yes, the signature scent of a tropical spring is... rosy!
