Halcyon days

I watched an oriole weaving its nest on the outer limb of a great oak tree. The undersized new leaves were pale green,  the web of grass that formed the nest  was as gray as weathered wood. These striking orange-and-black birds darting through the canopy were also catching winter moths, and I wished them success in their labors, as these invasive insects are brutal defoliators and can positively ruin a blueberry crop.

I heard the song of the wood thrush cascading like a waterfall in the shadows of the forest.  That liquid warble is one of the sweetest sounds I know, as emblematic of the warm season as peepers are at the onset of spring.  It is as fresh as the new green mantles of the deciduous trees, bright and clear in the stillness of the woods.

I smelled the first cutting of a hayfield, and the rich loam of new-furrowed earth. My lungs filled with the cool, clean air of a misty morning, washed free of pollen by a passing shower. I caught the scent of lilacs in the late afternoon.

I felt the warmth of the sun on my unprotected skin, and the cool breeze of wind off the water.  It was a delight to walk barefoot in the dew. I worked my fingers deep in the soil, shifting stones out of holes for balled and burlapped trees.

I tasted the sharp tang of rhubarb baked in a pie, where its tartness was allowed to shine through. I savored iced apple mint tea from my herb garden, roasted asparagus spears and sauteed morels. The advancing season promises fresh offerings;cat tail pollen flour and garden-fresh peas and a host of other delights.

Each day in May awakens my senses and stimulates latent memories. These timed activities, ephemeral gifts of the present,  keep me turned like a flower toward the light.

Tim Abbott is program director of Housatonic Valley Association’s Litchfield Hills Greenprint. His blog is at greensleeves.typepad.com.