I don’t know where elder bushes go during the winter, but I do know they go somewhere! We look and hunt for them but they seem to be in hiding, gone to the otherworld maybe, awaiting the call of spring. Then, as if in response to a hidden siren from the depths of the new summer they burst into flower, their dinnerplate blossoms lining every country lane and motorway verge as far as the eye can see.
For me they represent the arrival of summer, just as do the swifts that I eagerly await year after year.
