The recent heavy winds have shorn the yard; tearing rose-pink blossoms from the crab apple tree, ripping the splash of yellow from the forsythia, scattering the bright tangerine petals of quince and pummelling the fuchsia of the bleeding hearts.
Blooms are fading and disappearing in the cycle of bud, bloom, die, bud…
Though the service berry and chokecherry trees have lost their talcum of frothy pink-white flowers, the rowan trees still show clusters of tiny cream buds and flowers. At the front of the house, rhododendrons bloom in butter yellow.
The purples and mauves of lilacs scent the sunny air promising summer.
Tiny golden pansies and tipped-cup lily of the valley peek from dark green leaves.
The yard is dying and birthing and always evolving in this constant cycle of life that is the natural world.