Spring; an orderly queue.

I wonder how trees know who's turn it is to explode into green next. It's always the same order round here, honeysuckle from mid-winter, then elder and the sticky conker buds. A little gap then weeping willow, rowan in sheltered places and now the silver birches are just putting tentative sprigs out to test the air. Great Uncle Oak is last by a long way, but a few years ago they mistimed it, and the tender new leaves were at their most vulnerable when a late frost stripped them. the had to beginag'in like Poor Old Michael Finnegan. The less gigantic have to get in before the oaks take all the light, and it makes sense for the berry-bearers to get a head (or leaf?) start, but who fires the starting pistol?