Amid the Chaos of Terror, a Bit of Refreshing Solitude

Springtime at the Sayen Gardens,
Hamilton, New Jersey.

Decades ago, high up on the promontory of Seminary Hill in Bucksport, Maine, I regularly enjoyed a perfect view of the Penobscot River as it flows into the funnel-like neck of Penobscot Bay that opens wide its island-strewn mouth all the way down east, where it eventually greets Mount Desert Island off the coast of The Pine Tree State.

From atop that hill, I took many walks during each season.  One of the most enjoyable of those strolls occurred at the advent of spring, after the end of mud season in Maine.
 
In one particular spot, at the crest of that hill, there lay a long, wide, colorful bed of brilliantly yellow daffodils – far more than I could count. 

Each year, prodded by warm breezes and the encouraging rays of the sun, they rose from the life-giving earth, “tossing their heads in sprightly dance.”