By the way, wherever you are in the Universe -- Kelly Luedde and Derek Hudson -- Happy Birthday.
Although today's sky is the leaden gray of steel-wool, I saw a row of trees which had -- seemingly suddenly -- burst into snowy white blossom. It reminded me of a poem by May Sarton -- a keen gardener who always lived in northern climes. Her journals often describe her longing for spring. This poem is called Metamorphisis.
Always it happens when we are not there--
The tree leaps up alive into the air,
Small open parasols of Chinese green
Wave on each twig.
But who has ever seen
The latch sprung, the bud as it burst?
Spring always manages to get there first.
Lovers of wind, who will have been aware
Of a faint stirring in the empty air,
Look up one day through a dissolving screen
To find no star, but this multiplied green,
Shadow on shadow, singing sweet and clear.
Listen, lovers of wind, the leaves are here!