Indian plum. I've never noticed it until this spring! Now I see it everywhere and I'm obsessed. Something about the glow of the leaves backlit by sun, and the up-reaching shape of the clusters, like raised hands greeting the change of seasons. I couldn't stop taking pictures of them the other day when we walked the trail.
It's funny what living in the country does to perception of season. Every tiny snowberry leaf is a reason to stop and watch, and rejoice—the wildscape alive again after months of sleeping. The change is so startling and drastic and everywhere.
I'm trying to put a finger on why spring is so much noisier to me here, and I don't mean actual noise but it is a roar. I guess the answer is obvious: without the confines of pavement and the crowding of buildings, spring is literally everywhere I look, pulsing through everything. Roaring, if I listen close.
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