In a yard on Broadway — in the Gateway to the Delta, not in the Big Apple, faraway readers — wisteria droops from an in-bloom redbud tree. My pink-and-purple phase ended long ago, but that tree persuaded me back to it.
A dogwood tree blooms outside the church door, and other dogwoods flame white in the greening woods.
As I stood inside the church-door waiting for piano students, a church member drove down the quiet street and honked a hello to the church building. A train began a long sounding of its raucous whistle; mockingbirds talked over one another in the oak tree; a woman drove the wrong way along the one way street.
Stopping to see the blackberry blossoms at the pond-edge, I saw a bull-frog luxuriating in the mud. I pointed him out excitedly, but if the dogs saw they did not say so, and you, dear reader, weren’t there to see.
Tiger Swallowtails — the golden-winged gentlemen and blue-bordered ladies — have been falling in love all over the yard, and most especially near the pink and white azalea bushes, all day long.
Our yet-to-be-replaced lawn-mower permits the clover to bloom and allows dandelion “fairy wishes” to shimmer in the sunset. Though I lacked time to make a clover crown, I did pause to blow a “wish.”
But now it is dark sky and cricket song out-of-doors and me indoors, remembering that Marilynne Robinson also found that “solitude” is “a balm for loneliness.”
*e. e. cummings
©2012 by Stacy Nott