Spruce strobili

Today is an indecisive day: gray and drizzly in the morning, with the sun coming out intermittently while it continued to mist, as if the devil weren’t completely committed to beating his wife.

I intended to photograph the fiddleheads in our front yard, but they’ve already unfurled into gangly and awkward almost-ferns: no longer cute and curled, but not yet fully formed and fronded.

This is how Spring unfolds in New England. There is a brief moment in April when everything seems green and fresh, then by May the ground is cluttered with cast-off maple flowers and spent rhododendron blooms: the detritus of a party getting underfoot and underway.