Is It Not A Day of Beauty?

So easily I can answer yes, here where I sit on a Friday afternoon, May 14th in New England. In Massachusetts. It is a beauty of a day–the light, the warmth, the level of moisture in the air, the abundance of birds –residents and migrators through and some settling in here to sing and make their nests. The trees are beyond merely leafing, they are feeding their leaves the food needed to reach their largest sizes, their deepest greens and reds and yellows, their flowers are transforming into fruit, their branches and their nooks and crannies are supporting nests for insects, for birds, burrows for small and moderately sized mammals. They are home to millions and food and storehouse and playground. I stand beneath them and it is a day of beauty.

Many, many years ago, when I was in my twenties, my boyfriend of that time gave me a Day of Beauty as a birthday present–makeup, hair wash, trim, and blow dry, special diet lunch, full, wonderful, luxurious swedish massage, manicure, pedicure–the manicurist was not happy with me as then as now, I keep my nails short to the bed and no polish. She insisted on clear polish–polish was part of the package… The gift was generous, and it was kind. I tell you, I reveled in that focus on me.

Last week, Mark and I walked for several hours in a forest that is bounded by our city and two other towns. It is a beauty of red oaks and white oaks, sugar and, by the water bodies, red maples, white pines, big tooth aspens, a few elms, some hickories, and some lindens, and striking beeches here and there. Lots, lots of wildflowers, bopping their small yellow, purple, white floral heads into each other, the dirt, their own leaves. We walked slowly. We stopped to listen and to inspect and to admire. We met several friendly, accompanied dogs, delighted to spend a few moments with each, and a passing hello to their accompaniers. When we got home, Mark noted, “that was great! It was so relaxing.” And I realized that we had just completed that current peace-inducing, usually paid for “therapeutic technique” called forest bathing. Ha ha, I thought. We are au courant.

It is now Saturday morning. And I sit here today at my desk, behind the curtain of the two weeping, gray birches out front, behind the shrub that houses the nest the cardinals I reported on last time have abandoned (don’t know why, just one day before laying any eggs they left; a titmouse check it out once, a robin has investigated it a few times, and a blue jay looked in, but the cardinals have moved to a new home). I am sad at their departure, but they continue to visit the feeder out back…

To my right, out the side window the lilac bush is flowering. Its scent wafts lightly in.

Out back a neighborhood cat howls now and again as it passes through, riling Maria and, I think and hope, intimidating the two groundhogs who I have spotted traversing our yard (yes! now two, not just one. This does not bode well for my garden producing anything for me).

This is bird migratory time and between our back and front yards, the Merrimack River, and the Concord River by the fish ladder, I have seen, heard, and delighted in visiting, passing through warblers–yellow warbler, northern parula, yellow rumped warbler, american redstart, chestnut-sided warbler, least common warbler, black & white warbler, nevermind the myriad other resident and visiting birds of colors, colors unimaginable and songs that soar in the soul.

So here you have a day in the life of Kate VH the blogger. As soon as I send this to you I will hop on the bicycle. Today, like yesterday, is not a day to be missed.