The American writer and naturalist Edwin Way Teale said "The world's favorite season is the spring. All things seem possible in May." Let's hold that thought. In a celebratory show, our young crabapple is putting out wee flowers on stalks.
Camille from Boise checked in today—her birthday!—with a photo of the meal her family made for her yesterday. All her favorite foods: asparagus, salmon, and salad.
(Nicely done, family people.)
From Mexico City, Carolina sent this along: My Mexico City balcony. Sketch by Bob Larson.
(This sketch perfectly captures the feeling of sitting right there.) Two months into summer, Carolina's roses are out.
Sign of the times
(via Rob in Chicago)
Poetry
During Wind and Rain--By Thomas Hardy
They sing their dearest songs—
He, she, all of them—yea,
Treble and tenor and bass,
And one to play;
With the candles mooning each face. . . .
Ah, no; the years O!
How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!
They clear the creeping moss—
Elders and juniors—aye,
Making the pathways neat
And the garden gay;
And they build a shady seat. . . .
Ah, no; the years, the years,
See, the white storm-birds wing across.
They are blithely breakfasting all—
Men and maidens—yea,
Under the summer tree,
With a glimpse of the bay,
While pet fowl come to the knee. . . .
Ah, no; the years O!
And the rotten rose is ript from the wall.
They change to a high new house,
He, she, all of them—aye,
Clocks and carpets and chairs
On the lawn all day,
And brightest things that are theirs. . . .
Ah, no; the years, the years;
Down their carved names the rain-drop ploughs.
Beauty and the beast (my gardening hands)
Music
From NZ, Alayna
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