It’s summer.
Theoretically it’s still spring, but it’s suddenly hit the mid-eighties, and it smells like summer, the smell of sun and cut grass rather than rain. The light through the trees is the hot gold light of summer. The blackberries are flowering, the verge is spangled with daisies, it can’t be summer already, but there it is.
Everything is flowering, or growing and thinking about flowering. The Virginia sweetspire has tightly furled flower spikes, the indigo is putting up stalks, the catmint has blue spires of flowers and I can see the green buds starting on the gaillardia. I startled a small brown frog while watering the other day, who was cozying up around the spicebush. Tiger swallowtails and mourning cloaks are flittering around the yard, and the boggy areas hatched a crop of dragonflies, one of which is the size of a small plane and keeps buzzing the studio window.
Two months early, absurdly early, but still…it feels like summer here.
