The sun's been lingering late into the evening, sort of like an old guest we love from time gone by, but just getting to know again. These warm nights bring happiness and hope for the season that's to come.
Tonight we set out past Byron's strawberry fields,
past the old tree needing support in its old life,
past the old fruit stand,
and around the bend where we see our shadows cast by the sun.
And then, the sun sputters out as the trees loom large as we walk on. Past the babbling brook,
and around the pond with its water so rich and glassine.
The trees are loaded with apple blossoms now. The wild roadside trees pull at my heartstrings - the underdogs - surviving, blossoming, and producing, year after year.
The trees begin to thin as we make our way up the hill,
and back into the sun.
The air feels soft as a feather here, with wafts of fresh sprouting fields. This is the land of the free.
And dreams are safe here.