marycatelli: (sunset)
[personal profile] marycatelli
In a clearing in the road-side forest, two deer graze. They look little larger than dogs in the evening light.

The trees glow when the sunlight is behind them, green or red from the new leaves, too sparse yet to block it.

The poppies are bedecked with their great buds, and then, from one evening to the morning next, one opens its pink petals. An iris by it takes longer, but then a fiery orange iris towers over it, like a torch.

In the cloudy day, the green of pines and violet of a blooming azalea are intense with color.

The trees shed long trailing seed pods, which clump together when the wind blows them into corners. And, then, sometimes, blows them along. By the roadside was a clump as round and large as a ground hog.

A wet brown creature gathering grass by the brook bank. And taking its mouthful and swimming off before I identify a muskrat.

For days the bellflowers linger in bud. Then, suddenly, one is in full bloom, and several other buds look on the verge of bursting, and the next day do.
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