The Apostrophe Blog
The red twig dogwood, Cornus sericea, in our backyard habitat is early to bloom this year. I have to wonder if it is because Phil, our wonderful garden helper, did his expert pruning magic with it last fall and that cleaning up somehow gave the shrub permission to gussy up and shine. Its flower start yellow then open to blooms of white. These blossoms will come to be a favorite for the wild bees living in the big leaf maple and the butterflies when they return come spring. By summer, the flowers will turn to berries enjoyed by the many visiting birds. For now, I am cheered to look out the bedroom window every morning and bear witness to the sepals surrounding the calyx, intact and (for now) tightly bound. In this first week of January in this new year, in this interregnum between sanity and the inevitable chaos soon to be upon us and the land, I am bearing witness to the tiniest of marvels, finding hope in a each bare red branch sporting its new growth, making its way through the cycles of the season, steadily, one reliable day at a time.
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