“In June as many as a dozen species may burst their buds on a single day.  No man can heed all of these anniversaries; no man can ignore all of them.”  ~Aldo Leopold

Mr. Leopold obviously did not live in South Carolina.  I feel that way right now, actually, and it’s only barely April.  I want to see and smell and touch everything all at once, and yet I also have the desire to lie lazily under a tree contemplating the beauty of a few unfolding leaflets at length, with the only interruptions a friendly grasshopper, a busy brown thrasher, and some curious kitties come to purr on my chest.  Which I would probably be doing today, since it’s finally cooled off a bit… except that the pollen is excessive, enough to discomfit me and I’m not even a serious seasonal allergy sufferer.  (Sending all serious sufferers in the South today a generous dose of sympathy.)  Instead, I am spending this day with one eye trained on the promise of the clouds, longing for a soft rain to wash away the sulfurous dust that coats every surface.

It’s physically impossible to keep up with all of these amazing — yet totally ordinary — anniversaries and births, of course.  Just take a moment with me to step back from that glorious, glowing, low-hanging bud and baby leaves of the tulip tree, shown above, to a slightly wider view of a few more flowers on that same tree.

And just a few of its branches.

And then glance directly up at the sky — as seen through spring tulip tree.

This is only one tree among the hundreds I encountered this week.  I realize I do spend more time among the trees than the average Josephine, living as I do surrounded by forests, and making regular trips to the Botanical Gardens and the lake and the local parks.  But I wouldn’t trade with anyone right now.  It feels like Nature is just showing off in this season of bounty and beauty, and sometimes I fancy that individual vignettes of her show are just for me, in that moment, made to communicate directly to my heart that all is well, that trust in the process of life is justified, that hope is as natural as the bright green glow of the newborn season.

One anniversary that is especially poignant and must be marked for me every year is the blooming of the dogwoods.  I’ve seen some that are already in full bloom, but the trees in natural woodland shade in my backyard are not quite ready.  Almost there.

Last autumn, I wrote a post, entitled “a rare pleasure,” all about my feelings for this iconic tree of the Southern Appalachian forests, now under threat of extinction, and what its loss may mean for the life of this bioregion, and how the awareness of its possible fate inspires me to live now.  In my opinion, it’s one of my better posts.  You are welcome to see for yourself.

p.s. As I finish this post it has begun to rain, a soft gentle rain, and it is so beautiful.

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