I remember being struck by these words -- daffodils passed -- years ago when I was in graduate school. At that time, I walked or cycled 2 miles to get to class everyday and observed the changes of the seasons more closely than the drivers who whizzed by.
I was grateful for a closer glimpse of the natural world and my connection with it. I was certain that the changes I observed in nature were happening just as often within myself and wondered what I might observe if I were able to observe myself more objectively on a daily basis.
I wrote this poem in the spring of 2005.
Daffodils passed, a remnant of
their playful yellow costume
lingering on the forsythia.
I laugh at how year after year,
these joyful plays of early spring color
have opened my heart to the beauty and
possibility of what lies ahead.
Then, the trout lily, hidden
in the nourishing damp soils,
adorns the streamside with its
dainty blossoms and polka-dot pants –
a joyful celebration of the fertile soils
I’ve nourished over the years.
High bush blueberry subtly bears
secrets of the fruits to come;
I heighten my awareness.
The redbud speaks to me in deep,
rich crimson buds. I am reminded
of my power and the ease with which
it emerges as energetic pink explosions
against a bright blue sky.
The tulips process in all
their royal colorful garments –
a powerful message of the
importance of my role.
And the honeysuckle, now beginning
to permeate the air with its sweetness.
I can taste what is to come and am
grateful for the fragrance of each moment.
None more elegant than the iris,
which emerges as a messenger
of its silent but obvious pride.
I feel my breast expand with the knowing
that I, too, am Spirit in form.
Now, the tiger lily bears its buds,
lurking in the wings, knowing
the surprise and awe it will bring
when its presence is fully known.
I anxiously await my cue.
As I contemplate all this wonder
in the silence, it dawns on me
that I need await nothing,
but only need to express
the ever-expanding beauty that
I am in each moment.
And so I express my sadness
as the bleeding heart,
my joy as the flowering quince.
I am, at times, the crabapple and,
at others, the peacefulness of lilac.
I am the curiosity of wisteria,
the abundance of the peony.
I am filled with the exuberance
of the flame azalea and the
relaxing wonder of wild phlox.
Oh, sweet eternal blossoms;
my magnitude is beyond imagination.