The earth turns on her axis; the sun rises, then sets. Today merges with tomorrow. Spring unfolds into summer and the earth serves as a canvas for the metamorphosis. The planet is alive with growth and color and sound as birds and insects and trees and flowers and homeowners all race to complete their respective outdoor tasks.
A full spectrum of greens (Who knew there could be so many?) burst forth from branches, bushes and bulbs. Leaves unfurl from their budding pockets and within days, my ?neighbor's house is no longer visible through the back window. Grass shoots upward, defying gravity, lifting a pointed finger toward the sky. My rhubarb, its leaves the color and texture of wrinkled raisins, eases its way out of the dirt slowly, like a grandmother pushing herself up from a favorite chair.
Tulips provide some of the first blooms, exploding in scarlet bursts, dotting my flowerbeds with vivid, welcome color. Their vibrancy fades, only to be replaced by the crimson of poppies, with hairy, slender stems bending under the weight of giant blossoms.
Dandelions, with their golden manes, roar a warm path across the lawn like sunshine, emerging from beneath the ground. Fastidious homeowners get up early on Saturday with the purpose of mowing them into oblivion; I've never been sure why. Small glass jars sit ready on my windowsill waiting for dandelion bouquets to enter the kitchen, courtesy of the mud-smudged fingers of a child still too young to comprehend the undesirability of weeds or the logic of why a bright yellow flower isn't vase-worthy.
The sky resonates a new, never-before seen blue. I can't find a name fitting of the tint. Turquoise? Lapis? Azure? Cerulean? No label sounds right. Even the clouds puffs of white appear to possess romantic under (or would that be over?) tones.
Regal hues of purple appear in dual shades as iris and lilac blossoms burst forth in tandem. Scents of lilac fill the kitchen, where I place a bevy of the lavender blooms in a large vase, next to the dandelions.
Noises amplify and augment the palette, becoming part of the landscape. Insects buzz. Dogs bark. My cat, on high alert, birdwatches from a prime spot on the the driveway. Children laugh. Birds chirp, unaware of feline dangers below. Lawn mowers rumble. Neighbors converse. The wind whispers through the branches. If we are lucky, an ice cream truck jingles. The world is noisy, dynamic and alive.
Weeds complete Mother Nature's masterpiece, filling in any unaccounted for or ignored patches of soil. Even cracks in the sidewalk can't escape the miracle of growth and the preponderance of life that accompanies the season. Again, the homeowner attempts to squelch this unwanted vegetation, and for a moment or two by earth's standards he may appear to have the upper hand. Weeds disappear, only to reemerge elsewhere, or in the same spot, because it is not for us to decide. Each element is part of the masterpiece one where we merely occupy a fraction of the canvas, and the true artist, Mother Nature, holds all the brushes.