So says Mr. Frost.
As wildflowers emerge, they briefly take on a sleek, streamlined form as they swim upward through the duff.
Some photos of these rising hopefuls from the last few weeks in Shakerag Hollow, toadshade trillium, bloodroot, May apple:
Shakerag Hollow continues its tumble through spring. The earliest blossoms are gone and fruits are fattening in their place. So goes the bloom of youth. The later flowers have now stepped forward and are waving for all they’re worth at the motley collection of pollinating bees, wasps, and flies. A few of my favorites:
Hepatica. Most bloomed weeks ago; a few persist.
Larkspur. So violet it makes your eyes hurt.
Wild geranium. Violet calmed.
Spotted Mandarin. Most fabulous name in the woods.
Celandine poppy. The zenith. The nonpareil.
Winter seemed to be slipping quietly out of the door, but evidently it still has business here. The forest floor is transformed.
Where-ever dark objects protrude, they soak the sun’s weak heat. Gradually the surrounding snow sublimates, leaving sleeves of empty space around twigs and leaves.
The nascent growth of spring wildflowers is checked. Buds and furled leaves endure, listening for the click of the door.
David George Haskell 