The community is a symphony in the key of orange lately, with American Redstarts tittering in the treetops and the orioles whistling their sweet theme. Warblers are everywhere, and birdboxes are full of wrens, tree swallows, and bluebirds.  Meanwhile, sugar snap peas are coming up fast in the garden.  I’ll see you all in the woods!  (In the meantime, apply yourselves to Dickinson’s mysterious poem, below. Also, there are minutes of the last meeting posted on the site, and Debbie would like anyone interested in renting their place for part of the summer to contact her.)

To hear an oriole sing
May be a common thing,
Or only a divine.

It is not of the bird
Who sings the same, unheard,
As unto crowd.

The fashion of the ear
Attireth that it hear
In dun or fair.

So whether it be rune,
Or whether it be none,
Is of within;

The “tune is in the tree,”
The sceptic showeth me;
“No, sir! In thee!”

— Emily Dickinson