Where I live in upstate New York, the students have left (well, most of them) for the summer. But much remains. In the morning, around 4:30 am, the birds start to sing and, for a half hour or so, the morning is theirs. Their singing tells stories we humans will never know.
Then the sun rises on a walking trail called the Vestal Rail Trail that, years ago, was a railroad track.
Now, thousands of people walk, bike, roller skate or run on it.
This past Sunday, the trees were blooming,telling their own stories.
Sunday, the pink dogwoods were still in bloom.
Sadly, much of what you see blooming at this time of year are invasives, not native to this area. Still, many of these blooms smell so nice, even as they choke out native vegetation.
Like this honeysuckle. What story does it tell?
Many enjoy the scent of the invasive Russian Olive, but I don't. (And no, olives don't come from these trees. One could wish, though.)
And finally, while not an invasive where I live, these black cherry trees have such sweet smelling blooms. I understand, though, that they are now considered invasive in some parts of Europe. I know the story this tree tells - those blooms are among my favorite.
I wonder how many people walk past these trees, intent on exercise, without stopping to smell the flowers, without pausing to learn their stories.
Stories, all around us, and too many of us are wrapped up in our own story. Maybe that's not all a bad thing, but, on occasion, I just need to escape. When I do, I'm thankful nature is there for me.