About 3 weeks ago I heard rumors that your appearance would be imminent. Your buds had been spotted—a sure sign of spring.
and gathered you into our digital baskets.
On we hunted for “Just one more.” The 11-year-old exulted, “Oh, that’s a good specimen!” as she climbed with me, her shutter snapping in harmony with mine. (Really, where do they come up with these things? She said it with such reverence and wonder.)
Some of you were a little worse for the wear—having stood strong through downpours . . . holding your own against insect attacks.
Reluctantly we headed back down the hill . . . leaving you behind to sleep in the forest; each of us carrying in our mind’s eye the treasure that is you.