I want very much to name all the mysteries that make me happy in spring woods. Today, as I was rounding the bend of the trail, after visiting the white cloud/blue sky view from King Philip's Overlook, a luminous blossom, shining from the shaded edge of the trail, arrested my attention. Beauty, it stopped my heart. I burst into a delighted smile! I must find out what it is. I must know how to name this blessing.

On my return, after a good long search in my guides, I discover: Downy Hawthorn. 

One May morning, when my father was alive, and so was his garden at 44 Brush Hill, my daughter Perri, (she must have been three or four), and I walked half a mile up the road from our home at 85 Brush Hill, and helped my father plant his seedlings in his freshly manured soil. Then, Perri kissed all the little lettuces, she said, to help them grow. Neither my father nor I saw her do this, but she told me, and I wrote it in her journal.

I will tell you a secret. I kissed the hawthorn blossom in the woods. It was an impulse, after I had taken the picture, before I knew its name, because it astonished me. Because I had to act. Because a kiss is something I could do - a kind of reply. Like a prayer? 

Of course, I was alone on the trail, and if anyone but the dogs had been watching, I wouldn't have. Except in church, (these days I'm rarely if ever there), I do not pray in front of anyone. And, I think it's impossible to shape the prayer you need answered if anyone is watching. A prayer of entreaty or a prayer of thanks – is unselfconscious, must rise spontaneously from under layers of self-interest and self-regard - how else could a prayer be entirely trustworthy? If prayer calls for witness, I will know mine in the presence of lettuces and downy hawthorn.

All photos and text copyright Kelly DuMar 2017