Fawn lilies shine like stars in the green woods where we walk in the evening. To see the yellow stamens one must bend low for they tuck their heads down and never look up.
The light stays longer and longer and is so very welcome. We are in a stretch of warm sunny weather that feels almost like summer. My garden is thriving; snap peas, carrots, and radishes are growing well. I just planted beets, onion sets, and spinach. Strawberry plants are beginning to blossom.
I am busy with teaching online. It is much less satisfying than the classroom. I miss my students, even the challenging ones. While I have a dedicated sewing room with a desk and a table upstairs, I wanted to be downstairs where there is more light and I'm closer to the centre of things. So we brought in an old table that we use outside and I scrubbed it up. At school I use a desk top to create my handouts, but at home I use a Surface Pro. We found an old keyboard and mouse that I enjoy using much more than the small keyboard that came with the Surface; it's much easier to use for typing the accents in Spanish. I need just the right height for videos and use some of my larger books to prop things up. The whole set up has been moved several times as I look for just the right light for video conferences and creating teaching videos for my students. This seems to work, in a corner of the dining room. I use that rice bag a lot as I spend a lot of time sitting and my back doesn't like it at all.
In the woods the bluebells open, vibrant blue against green. The ones in my garden are a little slower.
I've had a hard time settling into reading very much these days. My thoughts are scattered and I am easily distracted. I find that old books are comforting this is a selection of what I'm dipping into. The Quiet Center is a collection of essays published in Victoria magazine during its first 20 years or so, and there are many that I enjoy.
Here is an excerpt from Meditations of a Beekeeper by Faith Andrews Bedford:
"In years past, as the crocus pushed eagerly through the soft earth, my honeybees greeted the arrival of the year's first flowers with excitement, diving into the deep cups of the blooms and covering their furry bodies with bright yellow pollen. Their buzzing echoed happily inside the purple chambers, and the blossoms shook. Each April, when the Andromeda bush by the back door was covered with delicate rosy panicles, the sound of the bees' quiet hum would greet our comings and goings. And as I snipped the tender new growth of thyme and rosemary, I would always find a honeybee or two already busy at work gathering nectar from her side of the herb."
In the woods an old apple tree blooms. Someone has cleared away the brambles and undergrowth that choked the tree, and now it's showing signs of life. It will be interesting to see if any apples grow from these blooms.
These days roll on one by one. They feel odd in many ways, yet the garden grows as it always does, birds come to the feeder, and fawn lilies shine in the green woods. These things ground me. "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven" said wise King Solomon. These days have their rhythm. The strangeness will end.