Tag Archives: Writing

Wild plum.



Wild plum’s probably my favorite this time of year- for two or three weeks they’ll throw white flowers against black branches and their ponderous scent will drift in from unkept fields and fencerows.  A few twigs saturated with flowers bloom politely just over the back fence; I admire them and offer no quarter, knowing to conquer is their nature.



It’s winter, and then it isn’t- because the robins are back, because in the morning the liquid call of a red-winged blackbird wakes you, as he perches where a bluebird sat only the day before.