On Sunday the morning clouds were magical, feathery shapes. You wonder what it would feel like if these clouds would brush against you. They appear softer than silk. Yet, they are mostly ice crystals, so the sensation may be startling.

On days like these, you want to drop everything, lie down on the grass, and watch the clouds all day. Employers let workers take off sick days and personal days. Maybe they should add Cloud Days for those days when the clouds are special.

Over the last few decades, Japan has added a number of national holidays to encourage workers to take more time off and to give the tourist industry a boost. Instead of conjuring up holidays commemorating historical figures, in 1996 came Ocean Day in July, in 2005 came Green Day at the end of April, and in 2016 came Mountain Day celebrated in August. The good thing about celebrating the ocean, forests and plants, and mountains, is that no one is going to accuse any of those things as having misbehaved.

Cloud Day certainly is a prime candidate for a national holiday. Life on earth would not be possible as we know it without clouds. Celebrate the things that make life possible.

Other candidates for national holidays would be River Day, Bird Day, Fish Day, Flower Day, Star Day, Rock Day, Sun Day, Moon Day, and Shooting Star Day.

By late afternoon, the clouds morphed into shimmering scales. And at dusk all that remained of the clouds were thin strands flowing like streams to the north east. All in all a very rich Cloud Day.

Most of my life I’ve been lucky to live in places where clouds entertain nearly every day of the year. I’ve spent some years in places where days and days go by without a single cloud in the sky. My heart goes out to those who must endure cloudless days on end.

A cool, foggy morning belies what is about to come. In the 16 years we have lived here, it has never been 90ºF, 32ºC. But Sunday and Monday, the forecast is for temperatures high above that. It is just for two days, but a harbinger of hotter summers that will transform the cool, gentle climate we love.

The ducks are blissfully unaware of the upcoming heat wave. They do have plenty of water to paddle about on a hot day.

I discovered Snow’s nest this morning. It’s positioned precariously at the drop off into the pond. It wouldn’t take much for an egg or two to roll out of the nest and into the pond. I stole a few eggs for breakfast. Until she decides it is time to roost, I’ll sneak a few off from time to time. I don’t mind her hatching a few ducklings, but not twenty or so.

We don’t have just a handful of flower types. We have an endless variety of flower types. The grass flower above is other worldly. Researches estimate the origin of grasses to roughly 77 million years ago. So how many million years ago did this marvelous flower take shape? No doubt this splendid flower has been blooming long before we humans appeared.

It is the height of garlic scape season. Maybe the best time of the year. Though, really, what time of the year isn’t great?

A surprise in the garden was finding a glob of regurgitated salmon berry. The nearest salmon berry is so far away, the only way this little blob of salmon berry could have landed in this spot in the garden is if a micro meteorite hit a salmon berry at just the right angle to send a bit of berry flying over the fence and into the garden. Could happen. 37,000-78,000 tons of meteorite mass fall onto the earth every year. It’s not impossible for a tiny grain of this 78,000 tons of matter to strike a salmon berry nearby and send it airborne.

Though most likely a bird regurgitated it. Perhaps a robin hopped into the garden after nibbling a salmon berry and spit out the blob to make room for a fat worm it saw.

This season of endless flowers is a gentle reminder that there are a million ways to bloom.

Twilight’s soft light embues a peony with grace. The pond is quiet save for the last songs the birds sing. It is the season of birdsong and bee buzz. Early mornings there are so many birds singing I wonder how they find each other. The warm afternoons buzz with so many bees, I’m surprised I don’t see them colliding midair.

Fading light highlights the truth that the distinctions we make between this and that are just illusions, tricks our minds play on us. There is no this and that, us and them. Matter flows continuously. There are no boundaries. Everything is one.

The soft hues of thimbleberry flowers are even softer at twilight. And the fragrance of wisteria blossoms effuses the soft evening air. How many millions of light years would a soul need to travel through the universe to find another planet where the evening air is as fragrant as the evening air I get to enjoy just a few steps from my front door?

“The world will never starve for want of wonders; but only for want of wonder.” G. K. Chesterton

May’s warmth has brought out the bees. The garden is buzzing with them. I discovered a colony of digger bees while weeding a bed of Iris. Their colonies are underground. One of them reminded me, not so gently, that this was their territory.

Ruby streaks are my kind of vegetable. Let them go to seed and next year they will form a thick bed of salad greens. The way they grow makes me wonder if sowing seeds thickly in the fall might be the better way to plant a vegetable garden.

Damselflies are darting about again. The only continent without damselflies is Antarctica. They have been around for 250 million years. May they carry on for another 250 million years.

Some of the potatoes are already sending out flower buds. This looks like it will be a good year for potatoes. I may have planted more than we can possibly eat, but why not?