This spring several friends asked me whether I would do another series of June posts. And my answer has been, “I aim to.” Each June feels as if it pulls me through the season faster than the last. My earliest version of this series in 2000 (link above) began as tiny envelopes that I gave to my daughter each morning like an advent calendar. In each envelope was a word that had to do with light. I plunked those envelopes and words on my scanner with painted pages of backgrounds and emailed them to a few friends. Warren, always the archivist of the household, printed and assembled them into a book to share with his parents. I remember Zoë sitting on the luggage as we headed out the door, finding the book and reading the pages feeling slightly left out that she had not been included in the larger message. Those envelopes have grown, like my garden. I am here watching the bumblebees and cutting the garlic scapes. I cannot save the world, but by looking closely the world is saving me.

This Spring

How can I love this spring
when it’s pulling me
through my life faster
than any time before it?
When five separate dooms
are promised this decade
and here I am, just trying
to watch a bumblebee cling
to its first purple flower.
I cannot save this world.
But look how it’s trying,
once again, to save me.

—James A. Pearson, in The Wilderness That Bears Your Name, Goat Tail Press, 2024