Where do all the flowers go?

pear tree in blossom             © harrington

The petals from the pear tree are drifting to the ground like a late Spring snow. One of the apple trees actually has blossoms, a complete surprise and delight. I have no idea what pollinates them but have hopes that next year it will be our bees doing it.

apple tree's first blossoms         © harrington

The bushes up the road that we couldn't identify the other day look like they're one of ten or so species of service berries we have in Minnesota. We'll remember to check later this year, before the birds get to them all, and see if there are any berries. This morning a couple of does were working the ecotone at the woods / field edge. Some day soon I'm hoping for a glimpse of a dappled fawn or two. Although Minnesota's Spring seems to be particularly precious because it releases us from the grip of our often too long Winters, it occurs to me that each of our days in Minnesota is special. My Minnesota is a continuing example of relishing those distinctive moments that enhance the quality of our lives. It shows that they can occur daily, if we look for them. The same can be said about the poems and poetry we often include. We've found that a poem which enhances our joy or offsets our aggravation can usually be found, if we look for it. Learning to find and appreciate the beauty of nature and the beauty of words takes some effort. Anything worthwhile does.

suspected serviceberries       © harrington

We were saddened this morning to learn that Maya Angelou, one of our country's inspirational poet-activists, passed away. May her spirit enjoy being free as a bird.

Caged Bird

By Maya Angelou 

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind   

and floats downstream   

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and   

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn

and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

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