poetry

The Gloriousness of June

/ Apple Hill Cottage / 8 Comments 
I THINK
I will write you a letter, 
June day.
Dear June Fifth,
you're all in green,
so many kinds and all one
green, tree shadows on
grass blades and grass
blade shadows. The air
fills up with motor
mower sound. The cat
walks up the drive
a dead baby rabbit
in her maw. The sun
is hot, the breeze
is cool. And suddenly
in all the green
the lilacs bloom,
massive and exquisite
in color and shape
and scent. The roses
are more full of
buds than ever. No
flowers. But soon.
June day, you have
your own perfection:
so green to say
goodbye to. Green,
stick around
a while.
         -- James Schuyler

James Schuyler has written the perfect poem: a love letter to a day in June. Not just any day. Today.

June green is unlike any other, vibrant and alive, still nourished by the spring rains, not yet ruined by hot sun, nor eaten by insects. Next to the June green, the peonies are more vibrant, the sundrops more sunny, the daisies more pure. Yes, June green is more.

The gardens are planted, red pears and green apples are growing, cherries are ripening, birds are nesting, perching, and singing.

The wild primrose opened in Sunday’s sun and surprised the surrounding motley plants. Her dazzling yellow perks up the shabby shed and makes the neighboring weeds look more stately. 

The new gate opens wide and the new fence keeps the fruit trees in and the riffraff critters out (so far).


If I stand by the garden gate I can watch the grape vines growing, their tendrils curling around and around. The grapes are too small still to be more than a vague hope. Will they be sweet? Will they be juicy? Will they be jam or wine?

The cherries are yellow, blushing pink. I ate one today, still sour, still small. Bluebirds are nesting in the eaves of the porch; wrens are nesting by the door. They can have some cherries as long as they share the deep blue June sky.

Dear June fifth, you are glorious. You are enough.

Capturing Mist

/ Apple Hill Cottage

The wispy mist floats

Fog fingers through the valley

Heaven blowing smoke


Air marries water

Leaves whisper melancholy

Mountains rise above.

Droplets sing, haze slips

Silently over the green

Defeating the sun

Tomorrow the gray

Has become just a skirmish

Sungold glow returns

Capturing the mist

Is finding the diamond world

Reflecting the sky.

The last snow of spring

/ Apple Hill Cottage / 5 Comments

Our bird feeder sat on the porch table all winter long, filled with sunflower seeds, untouched by any flying, hopping, or scurrying creatures.

It isn’t that we don’t have flying, hopping, or scurrying creatures: we’ve had flocks of Bluebirds in January, and a mischief of mice invaded our kitchen; herds of deer decimate our gardens; a labor of moles have invaded our lush lawn (that’s a joke, folks); last year a chorus of cicadas denuded our trees;  a loveliness of ladybugs live on the west side of the house all autumn; and right now we’re battling a colony of ants. Yes, I’ve written about critters before.

So where were the birds this winter? My best guess is that since we had very little snow, they weren’t starving and didn’t visit out feeder.

But a week ago we had (what we hope was) the last snow of spring. Snow dusted the ground, the daffodils, and tree branches. And a little visitor found our bird feeder. I didn’t get a picture of him that day; he was skitter-ish, but he discovered that the attack cat is fat and lazy, and his true bravery emerged. Plus he likes sunflower seeds.

Haiku for Squirrel

Red squirrel skitters
Sliding in the slick spring snow
His winter stash spent.

I’m not concerned about a solitary squirrel, but I certainly don’t want a drey of squirrels nesting on the porch this spring or a scurry of squirrels stealing our walnuts this fall.