The time that hints the coming leaf,
When buds are dropping chaff and scale,
And, wafted from the greening vale,
Are pungent odors, keen as grief.
When buds are dropping chaff and scale,
And, wafted from the greening vale,
Are pungent odors, keen as grief.
Now shad-bush wears a robe of white,
And orchards hint a leafy screen;
While willows drop their veils of green
Above the limpid waters bright.
And orchards hint a leafy screen;
While willows drop their veils of green
Above the limpid waters bright.
New songsters come with every morn,
And whippoorwill is overdue,
While spice bush gold is coined anew
Before her tardy leaves are born.
And whippoorwill is overdue,
While spice bush gold is coined anew
Before her tardy leaves are born.
The cowslip now with radiant face
Makes mimic sunshine in the shade,
Anemone is not afraid,
Although she trembles in her place.
Makes mimic sunshine in the shade,
Anemone is not afraid,
Although she trembles in her place.
Now adder's-tongue new gilds the mould*,
The ferns unroll their woolly coils,
And honey-bee begins her toils
Where maple trees their fringe unfold.
The ferns unroll their woolly coils,
And honey-bee begins her toils
Where maple trees their fringe unfold.
The goldfinch dons his summer coat,
The wild bee drones her mellow bass,
And butterflies of hardy race
In genial sunshine bask and float.
The wild bee drones her mellow bass,
And butterflies of hardy race
In genial sunshine bask and float.
The Artist now is sketching in
The outlines of his broad design
So soon to deepen line on line,
Till June and summer days begin.
Now Shadow soon will pitch her tentThe outlines of his broad design
So soon to deepen line on line,
Till June and summer days begin.
Beneath the trees in grove and field,
And all the wounds of life be healed,
By orchard bloom and lilac scent.
--John Burroughs, 1837-1921
*"Mold" in British English. Flowers are now adorning the ground, where before moldy leaf remnants lay
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2 comments:
Enjoying moving into May; being locked down but allowed a daily walk (and having retired late last year) I've probably notice the seasonal changes more this year than any. I keep watching the way the beech trees change from brown to green leaves without there being a bare tree between.
Psalm 1:3: "And he [is] as a tree planted by brooks of water, which giveth its fruit in its season, and whose leaf fadeth not".
Thanks for visiting yet again. SO many lovely thoughts in your comment.
It's been so rare in my life that I've seen beeches that it's a lovely memory to me. (Oddly, we lived on a street in northeastern [state of] New Mexico named "beech", though no beeches for probably 1500 miles. Just generally the idea of "tree names" on all the streets.) Although I will not be a transcendentalist like Henry David Thoreau, his writings talk about beeches. Makes me think about Native Americans padding around the northeastern states before the white man came, making beech bark canoes. We do not have 4 seasons and rarely have brooks of water... sometimes after a huge storm, but rare. It's compouded by the many decades of siphoning the actual rivers into irrigation canals.
But for now, I shall enjoy the rest of the years raising the last child at home and dream... and escape when I can... and know that my permanent home in heaven will surely be a New Eden, so all this mess will be gone!
We're somewhat locked down, though I go into work 1/2 time at one job. But we're hitting the triple digit [Fahrenheit] weather here... around 37 degrees Celcius, and it will only go up. I do not like this place and hope in time to live somewhere more to my liking. But I have duties to carry out here now.
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