it was muggy the whole day.
then it rained.
and now, the wild plums and crab apples, and all those blossoming things stand in the suddenly not-so-emerald grass, up to their knees in wispy mist.
do trees have knees? they must, once we say that they stand.
the ent-ish chestnuts have produced their sheathed candles, holding them steady, waiting for the right moment to unleash the white, pink-tongued blossom upon the city in a whirlwind of fragrance of fresh milk.
and now, at the hour of dusk, the puddles are green with pollen, and the air ready for another moonlit may night, punctured by nightingales.
luckily, there are no musically gifted frogs where i live.