It's the year of the snake, an animal associated with shedding old skin to emerge shiny and new. The snake's year is the sign for humans to shed old habits, patterns, et cetera. Few can do this as elegantly as a snake.
Some trees and shrubs go through the same process, like American Sycamore (Platanus Occidentalis).
American Sycamore is one of my favorite trees. Until this spring, I'd never observed it shedding bark. The shedding bark is as artful as the abstract pattern beneath it. I didn't consider the shedding bark's role in creating the new.
A sycamore's sign to humans.
Left to right: An American Sycamore in different stages of shedding bark... on one tree. Sort of looks like a jigsaw puzzle. Photos taken on the same day, within seconds of each other.
Yellow flowers are my favorite. Meadow Buttercups (Ranunculus Acris) may be as yellow as yellow gets. I'm unsure about it's reference to butter. Butter this shade of yellow seems suspect (or radioactive). Or I'm just accustomed to pallid, factory made American butter.
Anyway. If cheerfulness were a flower, it'd be a meadow buttercup.
A Leatherleaf Viburnum flower head is a composite of many tiny flowers. Those pollen tipped stamens are waiting for a pollinator.
I wish the flowers were sharper. This was the best mobile phone photo I was getting on a windy day. I still love the idea of it... a wheel of Redbud (Cercis Canandensis) blossoms.
You may need to squint (or use a magnifying glass) to see the Mulberry (Morus Nigra) tree's tiny flowers.
Wild Black Cherry (Prunus Serotina) flowers are sweet smelling. It's a pretty tree that's rarely seen in gardens.
Sitting quietly,
Doing nothing,
Spring comes,
And the grass grows by itself.
poem by Matsuo Basho
Doesn't this dandelion look like a mini sun fell to the ground?
People have strong feelings about black locust and autumn olive trees (read the post below if you want to know my feelings on the latter).
Late winter and early spring rainfall was generous to both loved and hated plants. Many trees blossomed profusely this season.
I just remembered what autumn olive's scent reminds me of... the lotus blossoms growing at the District of Columbia's Aquatic Gardens.
Lotus and autumn olive. Two plants on the opposite ends of floral status have a similar fragrance.
Wow. Nature never ceases to amaze.
Above: Another glorious spring sunset.
Far left: Eastern redbud (Cercis Canadensis) blooms with a tulip tree (Liriodendron) leafing out in the background. Two indigenous trees that deserve more attention and praise. Center left: The seeds on this maple tree are so abundant; they look like new leaves from a distance. Center right: Sugar maple (Acer Saccharum) flowers dangle from branches like elegant earrings. Far right: A blossom laden Eastern redbud branch gracefully frames a tree group.
An idealized spring day is a balance of summer and winter. It's a hint of both seasons but without their intensity.
Green baby leaves on the trees are so vibrant they're almost neon against a bright blue sky.
Cherry blossoms have fallen. But the Eastern redbuds are still showing out in electric pink. The little sweet pea like blossoms are so densely packed it's hard to see the individual flowers.
Autumn olive trees are controversial, I know. No matter the flaws, the flower's fragrance is divine. The scent is entrancing... it's like walking in an otherworldly secret garden. "It should be bottled," I thought. But I remembered what usually happens when things are bottled.
Spring's gifts are best enjoyed in the moment.