Along the stream crack willows grow. Planted generations ago to provide wands for basket weaving, periodically the willows are still cut back hard and I fret about the birds that used to feed and nest in them.
And then they grow back thicker and lusher than before, noisy with black caps, loud with lovely yellow hammers and wheezy with green finches.
And then they set seed and a blue May morning is filled with down shaken from a pillow and impossible snow flakes drifting down, caught on a breeze, confusing the eyes with delight.
Look hard at the blue photo and you can follow their transient trajectory too!