We're supposedly in for a little rain later today, but before the possible thunderstorms settle in, I hit the road for a five-miler. I was dutiful about keeping up the pace and not stopping often, but coming down a steep hill I spotted something new that required a hiatus. This was my first long trek since the, er, procedure last week kept me off the hard-walking trail, and in the interim, a barely growing stretch of favored roadside went from brown to a peculiar shade of speckled green. Those curious leaves belong to a splendid ephemeral species of native lily named in honor of a fish, specifically, the Brook Trout—the dappled leaves are said to resemble the color pattern of a Brookie's back. The foliage, barely six inches high, comes up fast, but it only occasionally puts up a glorious yellow-green flower. Blossoms are fairly rare, it turns out, and are only born towards the lily's maturity, starting some  four to six years after an individual plant first pokes above-ground. No doubt, most Trout Lilies never live long enough to bloom, so every flower is precious.