It was a long and cold and very brutal winter, and the trees were harshly stressed in that semester of the year.
On this June morning, from the south rear corner of my house, the big old sycamore I love is shedding "helicopter" seed pods, as thickly as a winter blizzard.
In the brightness of this summery day, the breeze is toying with the pods, coaxing them into a lively dance, like teenagers celebrating the last day of the school year.
Like elder chaperones, Bob and I are watching and enjoying...
And trying not to think about the implications.