Was thinking the other day of the glib frothiness with which we infuse Spring metaphor – all that talk about rebirth, depicted with peaceful pastels, fluffy chicks and quivering-nosed bunnies. Never having given birth, that still seems a bit suspect. I remember my sister after the nephews – both times she looked like she’d gone 12-rounds with a prizefighter. Not a lot of fluffy pastel peace to be had there. Birth – and rebirth alike – seems a messy, chaotic and overwhelming battle, from my observation. I suspect Springtime also contains such tension in its bunched buds…
“blessed event?” all
clenched and knotted buds, boding
bloom-rich eruptions
clenched and knotted buds, boding
bloom-rich eruptions
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I love the photos that accompany (inspire?) these poems. I bought some tulips on Saturday that were entirely closed. Ed asked why and I said “eventually they’ll be beautiful and I have no idea what color they’ll be, so I’ll be surprised.” Buds like yours are happy signs.
BTW, my tulips were purple!
@Tricia Stohr-Hunt: You’re a tulipwoman after my own heart. I always want to buy them that way, too. The frisson of opening them and seeing a bright yellow when you expected peach or red or pink – it’s a hoot. The dianthus will, I hope, be interesting, as its nearest neighbors are ruby red, pink with peach center, and white with purple center. I don’t know what’s next!