Welcome, May!

 So far, May 1 is shaping up as better than average. A book, Traditional Ecological Knowledge, I had requested through an interlibrary loan, is now sitting next to my chair. (I was getting eyestrain reading a pdf on my computer screen.) On my way home from the library, I had an opportunity to help an old turtle, Blanding’s, I think, cross the road. It’s the time of year when turtle’s look for just the right spot to nest and lay eggs. For some reason, that seems to require an inordinate number of road crossings.

why did the turtle cross the road?
to lay some eggs!

Photo by J. Harrington

While we’re on the topic of living dangerously and “enjoying” the excitement, I put my winter weight pjs into seasonal storage this morning. Feel free to blame me if we get a spring blizzard in the next few days. Then again, it probably won’t be long until we’re fussing about heat and humidity. Let’s focus on enjoying as much as we can of this wonderful transition season. It’s my favorite, after autumn.

The unidentified small, blue flowers recently mentioned on these pages are probably violets, at least most of them. Today there’s a long row of dandelions sunning themselves next to the road. Next to the front door, hanging baskets of pansies add a welcoming touch, untouched, so far, by frost. Just remember, where we live it’s turtles all the way down.

Turtle

by Mary Oliver

Now I see it--
it nudges with its bulldog head
the slippery stems of the lilies, making them tremble;
and now it noses along in the wake of the little brown teal

who is leading her soft children
from one side of the pond to the other; she keeps
close to the edge
and they follow closely, the good children--

the tender children,
the sweet children, dangling their pretty feet
into the darkness.
And now will come--I can count on it--the murky splash,

the certain victory
of that pink and gassy mouth, and the frantic
circling of the hen while the rest of the chicks
flare away over the water and into the reeds, and my heart

will be most mournful
on their account. But, listen,
what's important?
Nothing's important

except that the great and cruel mystery of the world,
of which this is a part,
not to be denied. Once,
I happened to see, on a city street, in summer,

a dusty, fouled turtle plodded along--
a snapper--
broken out I suppose from some backyard cage--
and I knew what I had to do--

I looked it right in the eyes, and I caught it--
I put it, like a small mountain range,
into a knapsack, and I took it out
of the city, and I let it

down into the dark pond, into
the cool water,
and the light of the lilies,
to live. 

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