I'm enjoying this spring weather, anxious to plant my annuals now that the chance of another freeze seems unlikely. The Japanese maple that I planted last year went from bare branches to full foliage in a matter of a few days.
Even the roses, that struggled through the summer heat and a severe pruning, are covered with buds.
For me, "Luke", a poem by Mary Oliver seems to capture the essence of spring.
I had a dog
who loved flowers.
Briskly she went
through the fields,
yet paused
for the honeysuckle
or the rose,
her dark head
and her wet nose
touching
the face
of everyone
with its petals
of silk
with its fragrance
rising
into the air
where the bees,
their bodies
heavy with pollen
hovered-
and easily
she adored
every blossom
not in the serious
careful way
that we choose
this blossom or that blossom
the way we praise or don't praise-
the way we love
or don't love-
but the way
we long to be-
that happy
in the heaven of earth-
that wild, that loving.
-from "Red Bird" by Mary Oliver
