One fine thing about spring is lying on my back under a tree. The practice can be cold and miserable until there is enough grass and sunshine to make the ground a pleasant place to be. And today it was warm enough, and dry enough, and sunny enough that lying on the ground was lovely. As were the pink dog wood blossoms.
One of my favorite poems is in Bob and Leonor's house, and I get to read it whenever I go to ride the horses there. I posted it here but today made me think particularly of the second stanza;
And yet here's dogwood: overshadowed, small, But not inclined to droop and count its losses, It cranes its way to sunlight after all, And paints the air of May with Maltese crosses.