A break in the rainy weather this weekend, greeted this morning by a cacophony of birdsong, sunshine and clear skies. Finally a chance to walk outside without umbrella and rain-boots. Spring turning the corner into full summer. Along the backroads, wild rambling roses in fragrant bloom. Purple-blue swaths of lupine and iris wild in the meadows. In the herb garden, the thyme, lavender and sage is flowering. A huge bouquet of peonies on the kitchen table, their scent intoxicating, a gift from a neighbor’s garden. On woodland trails, an explosion of wild mountain laurel. Farm and food celebrations and parades in full swing, markets and stands filling up with locally grown, fresh produce. Goats and farm animals out to pasture. Wild strawberries ripe, pick-your-own berry farms open. Fondly remembering picking strawberries as a young girl, one of my first jobs, my memory playing tricks on me, the reality was only a few kroner to show for my hard work. Yesterday, a leisurely hour picking berries in the early morning sunshine. Body moving, mind still, room to think. An abundance of berries to savor, fresh and juicy. Remembering this season, years ago, the birth of my first-born son, my strawberry baby, pure sweetness and joy.