|"The Cottage", oil, by Kay Wyne|
My wife and I have been noticing an almost constant swirling of small, snow-like particles in the air these days, a sort of springtime storm, a snowfall of blossoms and dust. If we sit with the sunshine facing us, it’s especially noticeable. With a wind blowing, a soft blizzard of white things is spinning across the yard, as though June has somehow joined up with December. Eating outside, as we often do, we end up with pieces of blossoms and pollen and who knows what else scattered across our food. What’s strange is that we have to sit in the sunshine in a certain way in order to see this bizarre pre-summer performance. On cloudy days or if the sun is to our backs, this June dance is invisible to us, just like, in a way, the little miracles of life are invisible all around me. I wonder how many unnoticed snowfalls there are -- how many thousands of smiles I don’t see, how many cheerless hearts I disregard.