Yes, I know the dear little fellow is in the midst of a field of bluebells, not violets. But he expresses so well how it makes me feel to find the first violets each year. Yesterday I found them at the side of a house in the historic district of Ashland, very near where my daughter lives. There they were, marvelous clumps of beautiful scent and color along the fence and at the side of the house. When we returned from our walk, I had to pick a tiny bouquet.
When I went out in the spring meadows
to gather violets
I enjoyed myself so much
I stayed all night.
---Akahito
I read that poem last night with the tiny bouquet of violets sitting on my dining table emitting its delicate odor. I did not stay out all night in the spring meadows, or run through a field of bluebells, but my rendez-vous with the violets was a vivid splash in the midst of the day. This year once again I eagerly await spring. As poet Alan Spence writes--
First warmth of spring
I feel as if
I have been asleep...
We need more rain and hopefully it will arrive. Perhaps it will grow cold again. It is only February after all. But the buds are swelling, the daffodils push up from the earth, the crocuses are already blooming. And the violets have appeared.
One more poem for the day to come, from Kabir.
Do not go outside your house to see flowers
My friend, don't bother with that excursion
Inside your body there are flowers
One flower has a thousand petals.
That will do for a place to sit.
Sitting there you will have a glimpse of beauty
Inside the body and out of it
Before gardens and after gardens.
Photo by Goodman Chris via Flickr
No comments:
Post a Comment