no hope of recall

Nothing better to talk about than the weather, ever:

Heaven of a spring is upon us; don't feel like we've earned it here in Vermont, with the winter so mild, mud season early and easy. Ah but hold my tongue: still time for a blizzard, of course, to mind me and all the buds.

Spring greening of the land but also reddening, oranging, yellowing, purpling, pinking, browning - those first colors out, those first shoots, leaves, flowers are as apt to look like wizened wrinkled pressed skins, like an old man, like a baby right out of the womb. How, how, how is so much contained in so little - so much sprout in a seed? So much unfurl in a bud? The answer is, it is and it isn't - the seed has intent and some of the material to get where it's going, but only enough to just start. The rest it trusts will be found, will be, out there, beyond all safety, once it has stuck itself out with no hope of recall.