Happy that the recent unseasonable frosts spared my daffodils and hyacinth, my mind wandered to the flowering season ahead, and to Eden long ago…
The book of Genesis tells us that Adam was given the job of naming the animals. Bear. Wolf. Lion. And so on.
I suggest that maybe (just perhaps!) Eve took it upon herself to name the flowers. Heliotrope, Delphinium, Daisy, Honeysuckle, Lily of the Valley. Oh, I can imagine it.
Adam calls to Eve, “Come check these flowers out. They smell great!” Eve inhales deeply, gazing at the red blooms. “I will call this the Rose bush”, she declares.
Gently admonishing, Adam tries again to direct her attention to the wonderful scent. “Eve, a Rose by any name would smell as sweet.”
But Eve demurs. “No, Adam. A Rose, is a Rose, is a Rose.”
The changes were so subtle at first. So longed for. But sometime this week, maybe on the rainy day when I failed to watch for it, Spring arrived full force. Last week’s tight buds now tree-fulls of pink and white blossoms,green leaves of Hostas unfurled. Hyacinths, tulips, and asparagus magically returned for another Spring appearance in our yard. Planted over forty years ago by my husband’s grandmother, this reappearance never ceases to amaze and delight me.
The view from my window has been changing daily. I am watching the Lilies-of-the-Valley, trying to catch the moment little white bells first appear. Soon.
This poem by e.e. cummings captures the magic of Spring changes, so I share it for April poetry month. (I almost chose his poem In Just for my joy in the word mudlucious, but I love how this one captures the changes of the season.)
Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere) arranging
a window,Into which people look(while
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and
changing everything carefully
spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
and from moving New and
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there)and
without breaking anything.
The winter has been full of work, writing limited to policies and memos. Too many deadlines to allow myself time to write for pleasure.
The deadlines continue, but on this lovely Spring morning I took a break, read some blogs, and discovered April is poetry month.
It brought to mind a poem I love. It reminds me of myself and Spring. Perhaps I will find time to share others this month as a much needed Spring break from policy writing.
She Never Finished Anything by Lenore Langs
was distracted from
by the flash of a finch’s wing
decided to follow a regime
of monday cleaning
but took her coffee to the backyard for
on the first monday
and stayed all morning
watching the light change
on the leaves of the lilac