|Plum blossoms against the sky|
But today, for maybe an hour, I will try to settle my mind, ignore the "shoulds", and let in only the perfection of every new baby leaf, every candy-colored feather, every miracle of spring that has slowly lit up the North Country. It is what I waited for all the long, cold winter, what I longed for when I worked 50 and 60 hour weeks -- time to relax and enjoy the garden.
So come sit with me, in the old wicker chair that has made it through another winter. It's still a little chilly so you'll need a jacket and a cup of tea to warm your hands.
An urgent-sounding house wren is checking out the three available housing choices, two of them made by my dad before he died. Soon he will put a few sticks inside one and set about winning a lady wren, convincing her that this house is indeed the best real estate.
Blue jays, goldfinches, mourning doves, chickadees, white throated sparrows, house finches, rose- breasted grosbeaks, and a single indigo bunting shuck seeds at the hanging feeders.
A white-breasted nuthatch,formally dressed in his dapper blue and gray suit, scurries up and down the bark of the big ash tree searching for bugs, and a woodpecker drums in the distance. Yellow-rumpled warblers and yellow warblers bounce and weave through the new leaves after the earliest insects.
A crimson male cardinal feeds his mate sunflower seeds on the rim of the birdbath and as soon as they leave, a robin dives right in for a splashy bath.
Two squirrels chase each other up and down everything in their path, wrestling each other like my five year old twin grandsons when one catches up to the other, then both take off again in another direction. One has only the tiniest of tails. Easily recognizable, he rates a name: Stumpy.
The wind ruffles the red, orange, and yellow flowers in the big hanging basket my grandsons gave me for Mothers Day.