It's May!...finally

"Raindrops On Our May Blossoms" photo by KL Wood

Although the calendar promises that Spring begins in March each year, most of us residing in the northern hemisphere realize Spring does not comfortably and reliably breathe among us until sometime in the month of May. And now at long last, May, in all its soft beauty, has arrived. Even my daughter living way up in New York state near the Canadian border has some flowers blooming, now. And so, in celebration of sweet May and in the sighting of a migrating rose-breasted grosbeak, who stopped at our kitchen window bird feeder on his way north to my daughter, I am happy to share some photographs from our spring garden (and bird feeder) as well as a lovely poem by John Burroughs. 

"Migrating Rose Breasted Grosbeak with Resident Dove"
photo by author's husband, William Ahearn

Burroughs was an American naturalist and writer who counted among his friends the likes of poet-Walt Whitman, inventor-Thomas Edison, automobile pioneer-Henry Ford, naturalist-John Muir, and American president-Theodore Roosevelt. Born in Spring, April 3, 1837, and dying in Spring, March 29, 1921, this poem, extolling the beauty of spring birds and flowers, is a fitting tribute to both him and to the month of May he so lovingly portrayed.

"John Burroughs" photo via Wikipedia (public domain)

"Rose Breasted Grosbeak Passing Through" photo by KL Wood

In May

by John Burroughs (1837-1921)

When grosbeaks show a damask rose

Amid the cherry blossoms white,

And early robins’ nests disclose

To loving eyes a joyous sight;

When columbines like living coals

Are gleaming ‘gainst the lichened rock,

And at the foot of mossy boles

Are young anemones in flocks;

When ginger-root beneath twin leaves

Conceals its dusky floral bell,

And showy orchid shyly weaves

In humid nook its fragrant spell;

When dandelion’s coin of gold

"Our Yellow Iris" photo by KL Wood

Anew is minted on the lawn,

And apple trees their buds unfold,

While warblers storm the groves at dawn;

When such delights greet eye and ear,

Then strike thy tasks and come away:

It is the joy-month of the year,

And onward sweeps the tide of May.

When farmhouse doors stand open wide

To welcome in the balmy air,

When truant boys plunge in the tide,

And school-girls knots of violets wear;

When Grapevines crimson in the shoot,

Like fin of trout in meadow stream,

And morning brings the thrush’s flute

Where dappled lilies nod and dream;

When varied tints outline the trees,

Like figures sketched upon a screen,

And all the forest shows degrees

Of tawny red and yellow-green;

When purple finches sing and soar,

Then drop to perch on open wing,

With vernal gladness running o’er

"Our Clematis in May" photo by KL Wood

The feathered lyrist of the spring:

When joys like these salute the sense,

And bloom and perfume fill the day,

Then waiting long hath recompense,

And all the world is glad with May.

Thanks for stopping by...y'all come back, now! (And Happy May!)

Kate