Benediction of sunlight and lupines

The magic of sunlight

Sunlight hummed its June song this morning, leaping up through branch after branch, attempting to climb higher and higher above the tallest poplar and maple and spruce trees.

Sunshine illuminates old Studebaker in woods

Sunlight beckoned me, too, c’mon lazybones, sleepyhead, upsy daisy, how about a walk down the road to the lake?

Sunshine on our house and fledgling garden

“Please take the camera, too,” Sunlight urged.  “I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

Lupines in the woods

Early June wears perfume of sweet lupines, so rich and poignant one sometimes dazzles with the intense gorgeous smell.

Lupines multiply along our woods road every June, about the time of Barry’s birthday. We celebrated last Sunday and Monday.

We always know it’s his birthday because the lupines send out the first well wishes.

Lupine intimacy

So many wildflowers bloom!  They poke their petals off long slender stems and sing praise. Praise to what?  I do not know.

Praise for the sunlight.

Praise for the soil.

Praise for the shining of themselves.

White lupines shine

You and I–those who glimpse the fleeting blooms–make a difference just by seeing.  By acknowledging.  By deep-breathing the perfume of life, however fleeting.

Majestic green of unfurling ferns

It’s almost the land of the midnight sun around here in the next couple of weeks–although not quite.  It gets dark around 10:45 – 11 p.m. on summer solstice.

It feels such a rich and magical time of year with the bees buzzing, the butterflies flitting, the garden seeds sprouting.

It also can be quite annoying with wood ticks, black flies, gnats and mosquitoes biting. On my walk this morning a teeny-tiny neon green innocent-looking insect decided I looked like a tasty lunch.  Owww!

Then I noticed twenty of the sweet green biters.  It was time to move on.

Grace of a buttercup

There’s something about buttercups, isn’t there?

They are so graceful and fragile.

So tender.

I saw the first buttercup maybe five days ago.

Shy thimbleberry blossom

Thimbleberries, for those not from these woods, taste tart and sweet and delicious come late August.  If you want to buy a jar it costs between $10-14, depending who’s selling and how the weather cooperates.  One year, maybe dozens of years ago, I made thimbleberry jam from a wild and expansive crop of berries.  Have not seen so many berries–or made jam from them–since.

The beckoning lake

Sunlight often beckons a morning walker to the lake where one can sit and ponder and appreciate life.  It’s always helpful if one can sit long enough for the heart rate to still, the thoughts to ease, the body to settle against the earth.

The benediction of one last lupine

Thanks for joining me on this June morning walk. What’s new in your world?  Many blessings to all!