I’ve been walking in this cemetery for decades, and there’s no more specific or reliable a time-teller than the bloom of the Bailey’s Acacia. From what I understand, these trees are reviled by native plant enthusiasts and allergy sufferers (I’ve heard them called the “Dreaded Bailey’s Acacia”), but I like them for their delicate fronded leaves and profusion of cascading neon-yellow flowers.
But what I love about them is that their accuracy and explosive prettiness happens so suddenly that it always makes me gasp a little: I swear it happens on Feb 1, and there they are, kind of shouting at me, “Hey, Diana, it’s FEBRUARY!”