Moods of the Rhododendron

Sunrise. It’s not even 7am. The birdsong in the forest has reached its crescendo, the Swainson’s thrush sang a thousand spiraled harmonic tunes, and now the woods are quiet. But the sun, the sun is straining to speak. Spring clouds block and filter its light, but it prevails in highlighting the clouds drawn in the sky and it puts the rhodies into various moods.

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