#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

A delicate fabric of bird song 
Floats in the air, 
The smell of wet wild earth 
Is everywhere. . .

~ Sara Teasdale, Excerpt from “May Day”

My youngest spent the night, and I’m delighted when she is awake early and wants to share my early morning May Day walk in the woods. At the river, a bouquet of maple wings has spread itself out on the canvas of a piece of river driftwood. We walk past the swamp, and I bend and see one of the water logged wild apple blossoms disintegrating in such a gorgeous way. All this petalled beauty breaking down. We come to a massive Norway spruce tree that has been upended from the storm and has fallen across the trail. We climb over the tops of the tree and all the cones and buds. Cross the greening meadow and the maple trees are red as as a fall day in the distance. We go home by way of the lady slipper row to see if we can see any lady slipper hips rising from the needles at the side of the path––yes! I see them first! Now she insists she will be the first to see a blossom. We will have to wait some weeks. We drive to buy seedings for the garden: peas, bean, squash, herbs, tomatoes, lettuces. Frank works on building the raised bed boxes in the garden; I finish my raking and plant four small azaleas and a small lilac bush. April has passed into May and May is wildly blooming all around.