Berkshire Journal

“To mow or not to mow?” That is the question.

With just one bite of a freshly picked strawberry, it is possible to eradicate any residual weather-induced trauma suffered from a cold, drawn-out spring.

With the bedroom windows open to the cool night air, early morning birdsong slips between the curtains, tripping lightly across the room to the edge of my bed.

The growth in April, which is often sharp in taste and bitter, is the one we are given to eat before we taste the berries of July.

There is nothing like the aroma of warm, rich, soil hitting your senses on that first legitimate day in the garden to finally, finally, really put the lid on winter.

Clutter is sly, and dirt is ingenious.

The sugar maple, hands down, is the certain hero of an otherwise fickle month.

Small creatures gather, store, and burrow, birds launch shorter flights from twig to bending twig. The urgency of winter-preparedness, rustling all about.

“To mow or not to mow?” That is the question.

With just one bite of a freshly picked strawberry, it is possible to eradicate any residual weather-induced trauma suffered from a cold, drawn-out spring.

With the bedroom windows open to the cool night air, early morning birdsong slips between the curtains, tripping lightly across the room to the edge of my bed.

The growth in April, which is often sharp in taste and bitter, is the one we are given to eat before we taste the berries of July.

There is nothing like the aroma of warm, rich, soil hitting your senses on that first legitimate day in the garden to finally, finally, really put the lid on winter.

Clutter is sly, and dirt is ingenious.

The sugar maple, hands down, is the certain hero of an otherwise fickle month.

Small creatures gather, store, and burrow, birds launch shorter flights from twig to bending twig. The urgency of winter-preparedness, rustling all about.