Hard to believe. This tiny green capsule with it’s wide, thick brown collar of spent florets will be–in a couple of months–a fresh, ripe pawpaw. If I’m on my toes and beat the wildlife, I’ll come back to this tree to pick it, peel back its thin yellowish-green skin and stuff the pale yellow custard in my mouth, being careful to preserve the 6 or 8 polished brown seeds inside. I haven’t managed to raise one yet; the squirrels always dig up and carry off the seeds. But I’ll keep trying! Mother Nature is always pregnant. Always. If not with…

To everything (turn, turn, turn) There is a season (turn, turn, turn) And a time to every purpose, under heaven A time to gain, a time to lose A time to rend, a time to sew A time for love, a time for hate A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late –Pete Seeger

I have a book to write. It will have to wait a bit because I’m writing another one right now. But the title of it will be “Kisatchie Splendors.” Today I made a little time to go into the Kisatchie National Forest seeking splendor. Of course, I found it, at every turn. Dear people, have you ever just sat still for awhile in utter silence… well, with only the sounds of wind and distant crows.., and allowed the utter splendor of wild grass to restore your soul? BTW, it pleases me to know that we humans call this grass “bluestem”…

“Sempervirens” = “always green.” But in February, while most other vegetation is still dormant, the golden trumpets of yellow jessamine herald the coming of new life.