Spring Spreads Swaths of Sweetness in Petals and Song

"She beckons, and the woods start~

She nods and all begin~

Surely ~ such a country

I was never in." 

Emily Dickinson

Viburnum carlesii before White Birch

Spring is spry and gay . . .  spreading sheets of sweet petals . . . swathes of green surface. 

Flowering Quince

Magnolias and Weeping Chery

Returning birds and songs fill the cool spring air. A magical time of year.

Tree Swallow seen from under the Weeping Cherry tree

Strife strings along with the season ~ 

As well as wing embraces ~ a gentle feather waltz.  

In the lower garden, tea and painting are most pleasant beneath the cherry tree chimes, though it might be called bee chimes too. The sounds remind one of a swarm of bees. This is such a common tree but not to me. I have tamed this being and we are dear old friends. Breezes begin to whip about her wispy delicate blooms, reminding one of pink confetti falling to the ground. 

Middle meadow garden with bluebird nest box before apples

Ms. Bluebird and I are busy gathering detritus ~ she making a nest, while I build compost. 

Mr. Bluebird is diligent about guarding their home. 

"Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul.

And sings the tune

Without the words

And never stops at all." 

Emily Dickinson

We do always hope that birds will find our housing satisfactory, but all is not well in the housing market here at Flower Hill Farm. Strife indeed . . .  this is one way I would say . . . that humans are a bit more well-mannered . . . we overbid but surely do not get into fights over housing. Perhaps that is not totally true. Surely we never try to take away each others partners in the process. For now, in the garden there are chase scenes and downright brawls over the nest boxes . . . ah, but things will settle down in a bit. 

What is wrong with this picture?

Off with you ~ Ms. Bluebird has a nest in this house. There are two other houses that might suit you.

Here I thought the bluebirds were about to dive down upon a Tree Swallow . . . but hold on . . . 

 A skirmish between two male bluebirds is afoot.

The first Mr. Bluebird holds fast to his home and partner.

Walnut hill is coming alive in a myriad of green hues. I have eyed a number of returning warblers and the sounds of songs are lively at dawn. Our woodcock is still flying up high, performing his courtship wing dance, but it is now harder to hear him for all the other trills and twitters in concert ~ just as dawn paints the sky a tinge of rose.

Spring is joy.  

Earth Day 2012
The earth breathes out and you are never forgotten dear Michael ~ Poet and activist for the Earth.