"All the smells of winter are washed away
by the flood tide of the perfumes of June--
an incomparable blend of a thousand flowers
caressed by the sun,
of fruit springing from bud in the orchard,
of roots thickening in loose, rich soil,
of sea turn, swamp mist, running brooks,
birch and pine.
The outdoors comes in and there is no indoors...
Small children, barefoot, roam at will,
wading brooks, peering into muskrat holes,
feeding small birds in the hollows of trees,
following woods trails, digging sand banks.
Women's fingers are pink-stained at night
from the picking and hulling
which bring strawberry short-cake to the table."
Gladys Hasty Carroll