I enjoy this little ditty published by a county park in Virginia, which I can’t even remember now how I discovered.
It makes me think of possibilities–a book-length calendar of natural events? a weaving-in of human rhythms? the perpetual journal of my favorite local botanical artist?–and it reminds me of my longtime interest in more-than-four seasons. Late summer isn’t much like early summer; even late and early August are different from each other. There’s the season of redbud buds and the season of redbud blossoms and the season of their decay, and these all happen under spring’s big general heading.
On this day of the year, I would add to the calendar-list:
creeks more visible because of yellowing sycamores
U.S. flags on the dumpsters
mildew in the closets
pears and leaves, yellow-green and mahogany-colored, under the pear tree
kudzu blossoms waft grapey scent, and dot the ground with purple