Sunny and cool. My lily-of-the-valley bed is in full bloom—an exclusive, be-jeweleried crowd wearing the scent of nearby cypress spurge.
Overcast enough that the wood thrushes are still singing at mid-day. The cloying scent of cypress spurge wafts over from my weedy herb bed.
The rattle of a chipping sparrow. The cypress spurge smells so sweet, I resolve not to pull it from my herb bed until it’s done blooming.