Pidcock Creek Swirls, Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve, in just-spring
I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am still searching for ‘just spring’!
More apt this puzzling year than e.e. cummings’ is either Eliot’s “April is the cruellest month” or Whitman’s dirge for our lost Lincoln, “When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom…” “Wasteland”!, indeed… grief beyond explanation or justification, beyond forgetting…
I do have a couple of meagre, wind-whipped hyacinths struggling to unfurl. Of course, just as I discover them, two frisky deer gallop merrily through my back yard. So far, they have not noticed the withered hyacinths nor the gelid daffodils.
Let’s give e.e. a chance, just the same:
[in Just-]
in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it’s
spring
when the world is puddle-wonderful
etc,
I don’t know. The old cummings magic doesn’t seem to be working this time for me.
How about you?
Where do YOU turn
for spring?
EXOTHERMIC SKUNK CABBAGE, BOWMAN’S, which can melt ice in order to emerge…
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