Morning

The morning sun warms my back as the cool breeze hits my face. The dirt is soft beneath my feet. The towhee flits about, calling, as birds unseen rustle in the trail-side brush. The sweet smell of the wispy hay-scented ferns fills the air, bringing a smile to my face and memories of hiking along fern-lined trails on the AT to mind. The wildflowers of spring are gone, the last remaining white petals on the bunchberry beginning to brown. In their place are the showy colors of summer - deep pink sheep laurel, yellow indian paint brush, the rich purple of the swamp iris. The blackberry brambles flower, hinting at the bounty to come. Three miles on a sunny summer morning in Maine.