NATURE POETRY PROMPTS THOUGHTS OF SUMMER

Before I go out at pre-dawn or shortly thereafter to groom and water the 1,001 petunias (well, maybe only 999), I like to stuff my head with nature poetry so they'll be running through my mind as I pinch off the spent blossoms, say "Hello" to the bumblin' bumblebees who are early risers too, and greet the chortling martins who are in a tizzy now over their new families. Bryant's "Gladness of Nature" is a must for such mind stuffing when the corn is nigh high to elephants' eyes, the fish are jumpin,' and I'm raising a pumpkin.

~~As I pinch off a wilted blossom I say softly, lest I wake the slumbering fireflies, "There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower . . . There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower."

No matter I don't have an aspen bower. A gum tree bower fits as well. Maybe their leaves don't dance ballets, but they do accomplished roundelays. And no matter no nearby fruit is smiling unless you count the pawpaws, I've five growing that I can see. Maybe more higher up.

Bryant further states, "There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren . . . The ground squirrel gaily chirps by his den."

This makes me pause in my occupation to listen to the wrens. How so much joy can come out of such a tiny throat is a mystery. They sing from all points in the yard, but any time of the day I want to see one doing its solo, I look toward the weathervane. The weathervane is a swiveling black iron rooster and this little wren, singing seemingly perpetually underneath, seems as if the rooster might have adopted it, or vice versa. The wren projects his notes toward all points of the compass, taking his cue from the silent rooster.

As for the hang-bird, I suppose Bryant is talking about the orioles who build that little gray bag of a nest. So far, for the first time in years, the orioles haven't come. You can't miss them when they do. They have strident but musical notes, louder than all but the frightened blue jays. Last year a portion of a tall elm blew down and I fear they might have been there, nesting, and didn't survive the catastrophe.

It doesn't make any difference my squirrels aren't ground squirrels, they gaily chirr anyway (not chirp as Bryant says. Do chipmunks chirp?) from up in a tree when they think a menacing cat is going to bother the on-coming crop of acorns, or when any other threatening nonsense runs through their heads, like me taking a bunch of quilts out to sun on the clothesline or re-filling the bird bath.

Riley's lines are always good to have running through your head at outdoor petunia pinching time. I start repeating his lines, "Tell you what I like the best . . . 'long about knee-deep in June . . ." And then I abandon Riley and enumerate silently the litany of things I like best.

First, because they are near at hand, the fragrance of the purple petunias I like. Did you know that the purple ones have more perfume than all the others? I like the white fleecy clouds in the blue sky. They drift by so gracefully, changing shapes silently so as to avoid monotony. Notice daytime skies the world over, via TV if no other way, and the skies always look the same as right here in the Midwest. This shouldn't surprise me since they're out of man's control. But, somehow, it does.

I like summer clothes that barely touch you anywhere and feet free of shoes closed up tight as a turtle's shell, perfumed bath soa~p, feather-light gowns, blueberries on cereal, a V~dalia onion baked with apple jelly and a dash of thyme in the split open middle, just like Viney fixes them.

I like to see floating things that bob up and down with the mysterious little wind currents a feather, cottonwood floss, spiderwebs. A little whirlwind, running across the clover patch tickles me and I run to be in it, but I can seldom make it in time any more.

~I like the fragrance of mint and marigold leaves, tomato and sage leaves and chamomile rubbed between my fingers. Oh, as the walrus observed to the carpenter, there are so many things. No cabbages or kings around here but hollyhocks and a bird that sings.

REJOICE!