There is a chorus outside my window. This haiku seems appropriate for this first day of summer:
The cricket
proudly pricks up its whiskers
and sings.
—-Issa
(trans. by Stephen Addiss)

“I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular . . .”
—-from When Death Comes, by Mary Oliver

Wood is my teacher,
wood is my tool,
my sustenance,
my Holy Rule.
Wood fires my furnace
and my soul.
Through wood
I have achieved my goal.
—-copyright Ms. Rural, from The Basketmakers,
in honor of Connie & Tom McColley

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the [...]

“This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises, . . .”
—-Mary Oliver, from Peonies

    Yesterday afternoon we came upon a dead creature in the yard, in the grass just on the edge of the driveway. It had no visible marks upon it. At first I thought that it was was a mole, but its feet did not seem as prominent as other moles I’ve seen. Upon observing it [...]

Calling three times,
then no more to be heard—
the deer in the rain
[...]

    Last night we received some much-needed rain. Showers continue this morning.
“Rain, rain, rain!  sings the robin
frantically, then flies for cover.”
—-Mary Oliver, from Rain in Ohio

Testimony
 
I work white oak,
I testify
to simple living,
which is why
my life revolves
around this tree,
the source of my
prosperity.
 
In any season
I know bark:
rough, shaggy, smooth,
from pale to dark.
Of quality I’m
well aware.
I choose my timber
with great care.
 
Each tree has its
own tale to tell.
It’s my privilege
to listen well
and pass the whispered
legends on
in forms the deaf
can dwell [...]

“Brave flowers–that I could gallant it like you,
And be as little vain . . .
You are not proud, you know your birth,
For your embroider’d garments are from earth . . .”
—-Henry King, Bishop of Chichester
(from bartleby.com)