i recently began year four of this blog, which means that i have already gathered all of the low-hanging fruit, both literally and figuratively, in my surroundings. this results in the great gift of walking in nature constantly surrounded by old friends. but it also means i can’t just hop out into the back yard for tomorrow’s still blog subject. even an hour walk rarely offers up much these days that i haven’t already harvested, considered, and photographed, sometimes twice, sometimes more often. but last week, in the leaf litter along an old familiar walking path, i saw what looked like yellow flower petals. except that no yellow flowers have bloomed around here yet. when i picked them up they were sticky and hard like beetle shells. and then suddenly a visual veil was lifted, and i saw them everywhere, by the hundreds, scattered around the base of a grand old cottonwood. the cottonwood had burst its buds, and these were the the hard bud casings that had popped off and rained down onto last year’s fallen leaves. they aren’t even really that pretty. but they represent a moment of seeing more deeply that i thought many of you would appreciate, and that i wanted to remember.

cottonwood bud casings

sucker lake trail, saint paul, minnesota

what i love about these leaves is not so much the cheap thrill of their obvious decay, but how much of the spirit of the original leaf is still present in the ruins of what’s left. they are parthenons, still standing despite the work of christians, turks, and time.

over-wintered leaves

vadnais lake, saint paul, minnesota

on one hand, spring is full of graceful unfurlings. but it is equally full of coltish awkwardness–whitetail fawns weaving on shaky legs, wood duck fledglings bouncing on the ground, baby toads inching frantically through the grass. these linden buds remind me of a pigeon toed young heron tripping over her own stick legs. the milling clouds of clueless young minnows at her feet are safe for now.

linden buds

vadnais lake trail, saint paul, minnesota

spring’s progress in our back yard is measured by three colors. first the grass begins to green, and the raspberry canes burst their buds. then the forsythia is consumed by yellow fire. and finally, the redbud tree near the pond explodes like a red firework. i don’t know what these colors are trying to tell me. go? slow? stop? hmm. well, actually, that’s a pretty helpful message, isn’t it?

forsythia

saint paul, minnesota

we have a daughter who may be asked, or may possibly not be asked, but, as of late last week, probably will be asked, to prom. looking at the slightly desperate showiness of this boxelder tree in spring, i can’t help but remember the misery of prom for this particular tomboy, who did not dream of heels and hems and hotel rooms, but of true love with a boy who liked a smart girl in jeans and stripes. i did find him eventually.

box elder pollen tassel

vadnais lake trail, saint paul, minnesota