�ݬ� �� A Country Mile

June 2, 1996

�ݬ� �� By Jean Hughes

��I will remember this spring as the spring of the robins. My back yard and the surrounding woods' edges are filled with

these songsters. Every morning their clear, melodious�� voices ring-out before the light, and never a day passes that I do

not hear either their sunshine or their rain songs. Some days, both.��

��This morning, there is thunder in the distance as my little red-breasted weatherman gives his report.

��This week, the irises have begun to bloom. Most are a soft lilac, but others are bold purple with golden centers.��

��Every day, I discover new wildflowers in my yard. This week it was the star of Bethlehem blossoms that brightened

the walkway to the garage, and one rose bush has appeared at the front of the house that has leaves that look like those

of a wild Carolina rose.

��Along the edges of the woods, star of Bethlehem plants huddle in bunches and, above them, the locust trees are in

bloom. No tree's blossom is more beautiful, nor more sweetly perfumed than the locust.��

��Also, along the hill tops and in the hollows, dame's rockets flourish, in lavender, pink and white. They too are blessed

with a sweet scent.

��Hillside after hillside is covered with wild geraniums. They are the most delicate lavender-white of all the wildflowers.��

��There are cleavers and daisy fleabanes blooming everywhere, and Virginia creepers have crept almost to the tops of

trees and telephone poles.

��On dead tree stumps, big, light brown mushrooms with dark brown centers, and dark brown spots in beautiful patterns,

provide drinking cups for ants and other small insects.

��Bumblebees make music, along with two wood thrushes, as I walk this morning.

�ݬ� �� * * *

��After the rain, I am out working in my yard. A Baltimore oriole flies back and forth above me, flashing its feathers like

orange lights. It sings as it rests and sings as it flies. It must be trying to decide whether to nest in my dooryard tree or

in a tree across the street.��

��An oriole sings loudly, clearly and sweetly. It is a joy to have one as a neighbor. I will hang out string today to help

it along in finding nesting material.

��An indigo bunting is also singing its song for all to hear, but this morning, I am the only one out and listening to this

particular bird. The whole natural world is made for each of us, and we can tune-in whenever we please.

�ݬ� �� * * *

��Thunder has been grumbling for the past two days, and the raindrops come and go. We could use a couple of days of

sunshine, as spring fades into summer, but because of all the rain, the new-green is at its most beautiful now.

�ݬ� �� * * *

��I am waiting, but not so patiently, for the first rose blossom.��

�ݬ� �� The Visit

The month of roses comes from 'neath the sod.��

And raises blooms up to the realms of God.

With sweet perfume it lingers in the wake.

And gives its life for the sweet spirit's sake.

Let not man cast aside this heavenly thrall.

But glean the beauty as the roses call.

�ݬ� �� 1996 Jean Hughes