We've long wondered at the glorious displays of pink, purple and white wildflowers on the western New York roadsides and in amongst the trees. Nothing speaks quite so much of early summer around here. They appear in June but never in the same place.
Like the autumn leaves, they're at their best along the motorway where it's impossible to take a picture and in any case, I can't so them justice, just offer a poor sample.
They have a delicate, sweet scent and I wonder how they decide which colour to be, though they always succeed in making a perfect pattern.
We once tried digging some up and replanting them in the garden but it was hopeless. They won't be told where to grow.