Today I’m going to take a break from gushing about our beautiful library and its new addition. But never fear! There will be several posts this week about the goings on at Bailey Public Library.
Instead, I am focusing on the astonishing speed in which spring turns to summer in Maine. And I have the pictures to prove it. Three weeks ago—on May 3—our friends John and Beth came over for brunch. We happened to hit a sweet spot where the day was sunny and warm but the black flies had yet to rear their ugly little heads. After the meal was over, we had blueberry cake and tea and coffee on the patio.
The sun was warm on our faces. The birds fluttered from the trees to the bird feeders, and this is what the trees looked like on May 3:
A scant three weeks have passed, and this is what the trees look like now. The leaves are nearly full grown, and summer is tapping on our shoulders.
Every year, I am flabbergasted by how spring rushes headlong to summer. In Maine the change happens so fast it almost seems that if you stood quietly and watched for several hours, then you could actually see the leaves and the plants growing.
Let’s just say that winter does not depart with the same haste. And neither does summer nor fall. Instead, it is spring, spring, spring—the wayward child—that grows up and leaves so fast. But what a beautiful child she is, and how we love her while she is here.
As a Maine native I wonder, does spring pass as quickly in other places where winter is not as long? If so, then perhaps spring knows that she needs to hurry to make way for sister summer. If not, then perhaps it is just the nature of spring to rush and hurry.
When I started this post, I did not intend to personify spring and summer, but I have a fanciful mind that turns easily to such things. Besides, when you live on a wooded road in Maine, you are very much aware of the seasons and all that they bring—the beauty, the joy, and, yes, the hardships. It’s not much of a stretch to think of each season as a real presence and, at times, a force to be reckoned with.
At any rate, spring is nearly gone. Farewell, farewell, you lovely season.