I’m paying attention to the shapes of ferns, to the thunderheads building in the afternoon skies, to the changing voices of the frogs. It’s the end of May, dragonflies dart on the back hill, and lightning bugs flash in the woods at night. Summer.

Yesterday I researched the “spittle bugs” (or “froghoppers“) appearing on plants along our trails now. Wikipedia says: “These families are best known for the nymph stage, which produces a cover of frothed-up plant sap resembling spit; the nymphs are therefore commonly known as spittlebugs and their froth as cuckoo spit, frog spit or snake spit.”

Every few days, as spring shifts into summer, I notice a change: the asparagus pops up, the chimney swifts return with their nonstop flying and chatter, the bag worms drape their tents in trees, and now I’m walking through plants covered with “snake spit.” This morning the blossoms of poplar trees scattered themselves down the lane.

A week ago the words simple, 24-hr, and poetry worked their way into a collage:

I’ve become fascinated again by the process of collage, of tearing up books and boxes, ripping apart photos, and stitching the fragments back together. I can’t say with certainty why I enjoy the process, but it has something to do with paying attention to the simple details of life; of being interested in how the ordinary can be broken apart and re-assembled.

It’s odd, and fun, making these connections and juxtapositions. Makes me wake up a little.

From a recent collage: “Do not delay trust.” Maybe that’s what I’m trying to do.