what is it about may? it is always ridiculously busy. is it because i still have school-age kids? is it because my husband is a tax preparer who pushes a bow wave of work into the second half of april? is it that minnesotans re-emerge from their winter slumber and overzealously plan every glorious minute? i don’t know. every year, steve and i tell each other, “we always have may.” and then may arrives, and then may disappears. and it turns out we didn’t have may after all. every single year. it’s may 4 today. i’m going to go potty now, and make a cup of coffee, and when i come back, it’s going to be june 1.

dried dinnerplate dahlia

one last tropical image while i unpack from our trip to northern california, where our daughter is working her way through freshman year. come to think of it, this protea may be more on topic than i originally thought. our girl is reaching out in all directions right now, from a pretty solid center. go girl. your momma loves you.

dried protea blossom

aliens

my son has reached that age where horror and suspense movies hold an unbearable fascination, but he knows he can’t quite handle most of them without ending the day in bed with mom and dad. on such nights, these little elm seed monsters, hairy, hinge-jawed, and sharp toothed, emerging soundlessly on flexible stalks from the ends of tender branches, seeking out 13 year old boy flesh, might very well feature among his dreams.

american elm seeds in spring

scarred but vital

i don’t think robert redford’s craggy face has lost any of its handsomeness, nor does the scar on harrison fords chin do anything but enhance his appeal. i think the same of this agave spear. scarred and a little worn, yes, but handsome and upright and very much alive.

agave, old and scarred

cliché for a reason

i’ve turned into the kind of traveler who never really needs to see another cathedral. another world capital. another iconic landmark. there are parts of the world that i know i am supposed to see, that i accept i will never actually see, because i know i won’t make the effort. i have seen the same kind of thing before and been left cold. but i can’t say that about the eiffel tower, which might be the single most clichéd cliché of all the clichés, and which nevertheless makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up everytime it swings into view around a bend of the seine. and the same goes for fields of lavender in bloom, running in parallel rows toward a stone farmhouse with a lichen covered clay tile roof. bring them all on. i can’t get enough.

lavender