Nobody notices
the wildflowers I planted
up on the steep hill-side
amongst the chaos
and they are just seeds
It is Spring
after all,
but these are for me.
There was no way to tell
what would come up
where
and yet the rain, like blame
settles on a place,
soon enough
colors come out
like memories lured by
a scent, the way pollen
is heavy and imposing
making an occasion
to rise.
Between weeds, the butterflies weave
and I dig a fine line
between reaping and sowing,
the towhees wings graze by me
and I hear Hope
spoken in a voice that sounds
close to my own.
It was clear,
a good day to plant the seeds.
For this was the time to change
the natural course of things
as if by hand
we could sense
the Possibilty.
"I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance."
-e. e. cummings
Painting by Sergey Vinogradov (1869-1938), 'Still life with wildflowers' date unknown in Public Domain.
