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The wind veers south and blows the worm into the speckled trout's mouth, just as the adage said. The big boy comes home with a long string of specked rainbows for supper. Rhubarb furnishes the year's first pies from the outside. The shotgun cracks the dawn, and a bold crow is hung with spread wings, head down, in the corn patch. The other crows gather for the funeral service on the pines, the widow screams the loudest.
School lets out for good, and the boys run the woods like a parcel of whooping red Indians. The lilacs wall the house round with white fires and purple.
It is May, new leaves and young blossoms, and the year is ready to burst at all seams.
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