Sorry, folks. I can’t help it. All this bloom is going on and begging to be shared. I remember my brother’s opinion when he was small and we used to settle onto the sofa Sunday evenings to watch Walt Disney’s floral wonders in time lapse photography. One Sunday, with a sigh, he picked up his bowl of popcorn and made his way to his bedroom. “I’m just not that into flowers opening,” he said. So I make apology to those of you who are not all that into this flower thing.
I came across a good word the other day: Outmantle: [out- + mantle, to cover] obs. rare : to excel in dress or ornament.
To be an orchard in May is to outmantle every branch.
Look here. (Click for a closer look.)
I went out to feed sheep in the glory of the morning and passed by this tissue of bloom. Press your face into it and breathe. It’s the scent of pollen and sweet cloves. I wish I could send you the scent. And then a drop of morning rain fell onto my lip from the petals, the sweetest rain ever, and in surprise I lapped it off and tried again until my nose was sated with the aroma and refused to share it any more, and my tongue was happy with the cool bright water off the blooms.
I mean, yes, I am that into it.