It’s June this morning. Before walking, I work on my poem revision for Monday night and feel as though I’m making some slight improvements, but worthy ones. In the woods, I say goodbye to the violets and lady slippers and maple wings – June has its own new blooms to welcome. I thought I would shorten my walk to work on the yard, weeding and planting, but it’s so interesting and comforting to be in the shady, fragrant woods under the green canopy of trees and in the company of the the unfurled ferns. I am not in a hurry. I do yard work for hours once I return home. I am weeding on our driveway when my son, who is standing in the doorway says, “Did these ferns grow naturally here?” He noticed my ferns! It’s usually my girls who notice these things. He’s referring to ferns I transplanted years ago at the front walk that are thriving and gorgeous. I return to the woods for more, In a marshy area, I take a few beaded ferns, one of my favorites, because they can be appreciated year round. I am covered in black mud, but the ferns go on the garden, where the earthworms are wriggling in the healthy soil to make a healthy home. Frank does some mowing on his tractor while I plant, and in the late afternoon we walk across the yard to the river. He has bought benches for our landing overlooking the Charles and we sit and watch the rippling water in the warm summery air and think about the wedding that will be here soon enough.