May Scenes

Late May, the skies opened by a mass of high pressure and the morning full of light.

The first sounds of our morning: The horn of the morning Amtrak train, bound from St. Albans south, calling its way through the open crossing beyond our house. In the dense stand of pines behind us, four squirrels tease each other through the upper branches, all mirth and clucking laughter. These are not our sands, but we give them our words to make sense of them.

Last week, K looked out one window of our cottage. It was dusk outside, the late lingering light of Vermont in early summer, and a young robin was plucking at the mulch. Its rhythm was scattered until a sudden strike, a twinging worm pulled out from the wet earth. By its brown mottled feathers, the robin seemed young, almost unsure of how to manage this bounty. Pluck, release, pluck, release, then a sudden deep swallow.

The lilacs are giving way to the day lilies, just as the apple blossoms gave way to the lilacs. This world ripens in sequence.
Apple blossoms, mid May.


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