There ought to be a name for the day, in temperate climates, that the trees leaf out. (It would not be the same date each year & it would come earlier the further south one went.) Here in St. Lawrence County, that day was yesterday. The world went from shades of gray & brown to shades of green. The birches are & willows are an intense yellow-green, the maples a kind of dusky green, except for the species that leafs out first bright red, then goes green as chlorophyll pumps into the leaves. The roadsides have gone from dust & plow gravel to grass overnight. As I say, there ought to be a name for this particular day of each year.
Reading & Writing
Joseph Duemer's blog about reading, writing, politics, birds, food, & weather
It just happened here as well – I was just writing in my journal yesterday that it’s as though faeries come and dressed the trees in leaves overnight. You’re right – there should be a name for it.
“The opening of allergy season”
For William
As night
earthbound
birthed by a stone
which it floats
sails your love
lifting
swift with its stars
day’s disappearance.
As shore
I drift from
hurrying impossibly
pounding and pounding
bloom your rescues
flames in twigs
anxious to hold
the invisibly living.
As one
gone out
each morning toward someone
who won’t return
enter your leaves
their green
their heart-breaking green
again.
Shel, yes. I woke up with allergy eyes this morning, alas.
Peter, another lovely poem — different in form & tone from your usual contributions.