May Day 

by Sara Teasdale

A delicate fabric of bird song

Floats in the air,

The smell of wet wild earth

Is everywhere.

Red small leaves of the maple

Are clenched like a hand,

Like girls at their first communion

The pear trees stand.

Oh I must pass nothing by

Without loving it much,

The raindrop try with my lips,

The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure

I shall see again

The world on the first of May

Shining after the rain?


***

Still here.  Where did June go?  What's happening to July? Since the loss of my camera, a major restructure on the work front (his not mine), two birthday parties, extreme angst over choice of high school (apologies to all the people - including complete strangers - I've lynched seeking opinions) and now the school holidays, there's not been much time left over to tend to this little creative space.  But here we are, back from a week in Melbourne which included visits to the marvelleous Napoleon exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria, the Mesopotamia exhibition at the awesome Melbourne Museum and a night performance of Annie the musical at the grand Regent Theatre. So much to tell about these experiences (for another time). The children are growing like topsy and I've nothing but dodgy iphone v.1 photos to show for it.  My visual diary effectively stalled in May. 

Photo: Fly past over The Australian War Memorial, Anzac Day 2012.