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5 Poems Honouring Nature, Including “The Crocus Arrived First”

The Crocus Arrived First

When I raked back the dead leaves
they appeared like little saints
bright purple against the dull brown terrain
like a secret the land kept as they
pushed through the soft spring earth.

Their taut green leaves, strong and new
still covered, they persevered without the support
of the sun. Purple petals opened
encasing their yellow stamen.
It occurred to me how brilliant they were
their existence not hinging on my appreciation.

They arose from the earth, gently, rhythmically
knowing no bounds of human error
and when I exposed them to the world
oh, how happy they looked, how ready to be here
to enjoy the fresh spray of rain on their little faces.

The Shape of Light

When the sun is out
the rays pour in through all 
the windows of the house
bathing everything in light.

The flowers perk up a bit taller.
Their petalled heads bending
towards the warm glow, bowing
to this gift of nurturing radiance.

A reflection of lightness stirs within me.
Everything becomes a little easier
as I go about my morning chores
making breakfast, washing dishes

sweeping the crumbs from the floor
beneath my bare feet. I stop by the window
stand in the beam of luminance
the warmth coating me, gleaming

off of my skin as if touched by life itself.
I am like a cat who finds that little square
of sunshine and curves her body to fit
into the shape of illumination perfectly.

The Cardinal Outside My Window

Against the dull brownness of the first day of spring
when the cold whiteness of winter has nearly left us behind
a bright red cardinal, vivid as a flickering flame in the dark night
flew across the sky like a comet, a shooting star
landing on a bare plum tree branch, his feathers upright
at the top of his head, a black mask bordering his orange beak.
He sat, observing the world around him, as a scholar 
considering the light afternoon breeze gently blowing
through his feathers, other birds fluttering through the yard
diving after sunflower seeds; the sun, more than halfway through
its daily journey, leaning towards the western part of the sky above.
In a flash, he was gone, this spry little bird
and I thought to myself how fortunate I was to glance out the window
at this very moment, in this very spot to witness
such a beautiful creature, who graced me with his presence
how lucky I was to stop and take the time to notice him.

A Flower’s Arrival

Seemingly overnight, little green stems 
poked up through the soil
past the wilted brown fall leaves
exposed after the departure of snow
planted by a skillful gardener, leaving me to 
question if they are daffodils or tulips.
They rose up graciously
more and more each day, canvasing the hillside
their long thin arms reaching upwards 
as if holding them out in prayer. 
Buds formed at the tips
a promise of the yellow flowers held within.
Every day, I hold my breath as I walk past them
watching and waiting for the surprise
of each delicate flower’s opening.

The Last Time

Riding on the back of my horse
I gripped the coarse hair of her mane
letting my fingers flow through the black sea of waves
breathing in that musky, dusty smell 
paying mind to the ears, the way they flicked forward
pricked at attention to any little noise or movement around us
the echoes of her hooves in my ears each time
they hit the ground in the rhythmic order of the gait
her muscles, flexing and straining underneath me
holding enough power to propel us forward
so that it was almost as if we flew through the world
together, one being, one mind
sensitive to my every move, my legs become her legs.
We speak in an unspoken language of nudges and squeezes
so subtle in communication only she and I can understand.
If I would have known that the last time 
I rode her would be the absolutely 
last time, I would have savoured the moment more
like the final bite of a fine meal, the flavours melding 
on my tongue, not wanting to swallow, not wanting
the dinner to be over, as if she ran away from me
through a field into the thick trees of the forest
disappearing from view in what seems like a flash
only reappearing in my dreams where we are
together again, still dancing.

See also

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image: Pixabay

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