Early morning, mild and bright. Sat outside with coffee while the garden was in birdsong.
The street was quiet. A grey catbird sang.
In the dry sandy bed the Ohio spiderworts (tradescantia ohiensis) have begun to open. Soft blue flowers, fresh against the gravel and grit. In the same place, hoary vervain (verbena stricta) seedlings have begun to emerge.
The wild columbine (aquilegia canadensis) and wild geranium (geranium maculatum) are both at their fullest now. The red osier dogwoods (cornus sericea) are in bloom too, busy with bumblebees.
In the afternoon, I was visited by a young cardinal, newly red and curious. We watched each other for a moment before it flew off into the shade of the cedars.
On the patio lay a young sparrow, as if asleep. It hadn’t been there long. Perhaps it had struck the fence, or been brought by the neighbour’s cat. I’m not sure.
The cardinal returned and watched as I dug a small hole in the corner of the garden.
As I always do, I lined it with fresh leaves: violet, ostrich fern, and sweet grass.
I laid the bird among the sand and roots.
You were a good bird.
You were loved.
