Now it’s all green lace, fresh as rain,
and flowers, wantonly strew
across the woodland’s floor,
crowding the roadsides, dancing
free as wind in the unplowed fields
to the songs of countless birds.
You can keep your Summerland.
When I die, I want to go to the place
in heaven where it’s eternal Spring.
“Thank you” seems so small a phrase,
so wholly inadequate in the face of this burgeoning green,
of these fields and hills, spilling over now with flowers
beyond counting, in hues beyond our power to name.
Still, I kneel before the pristine trillium and can conjure
no other response. What utter mystery,
how such varied beauty can rise from mere earth,
and that we should be here, in the midst of it,
Along the border separating our yard
from our neighbors, lilacs bloomed,
a long row of them, in shades of
lavender and deep purple, maroon
and white, their fragrance wafting
through late April’s open windows,
scenting the entire house.
Great bouquets of them graced
our kitchen’s table, and we sat,
after meals, gazing at them
in silence, breathing their perfume
as if it were dessert. Among
all the fragrances of spring, the
scent of the lilac, above all others,
fills me with pure rapture,
and with memories sweet and pure,
carrying me back to childhood,
carrying me back to home.
For Mike, who loves white dogwood blossoms
Head off to dreamland
with a heart full of flowers,
white as the moon, sailing
across the nighttime sky.
Lasso one of them with
a rope of your best wishes
and let them float you
through the stars, the music
of the spheres singing
the Yes to you, telling you,
clearly, that you are dear
Rest in simplicity, and yet
let your song be clear and strong.
This is the moment for which
you were born, the now
in which you unfold your grace
and make your mark on the eternity
of our hearts, so that we may sing
the Yes with you until
the last star fades
from the deep and infinite sky.
It’s not the circumstances that matter.
So what if, at any moment, the world
may explode? It has nothing to do
with me, with now. The trees are
dancing in green hoorahs and the earth
is covered in flowers. The mammoths,
they say, died eating daisies. If
the world ends in ten minutes,
I shall die dancing with joy.
The world is so filled with beauty now
that I hardly know where to look.
My eyes skitter from branch to ground
and back again, and at every turn
loveliness greets them, so rich,
so tender, so varied that they dissolve
me into an ocean of wonder and
Here, another kiss of spring for you,
wrapped in the incomparable magnificence
of a fresh magnolia. Float it in a bowl
of wonder. Let its swirls ripple through
the ocean of your heart, touching you
with the resonance of all that is Yes,
and life, and love.
A whim took me off my usual route today,
just a bright little flicker running through
my mind: What’s up that hill?
The road leading up was uninviting,
lined with time-worn tiny houses,
cramped in small and unkempt yards.
But still, I was drawn. And when I reached
the road’s end, I discovered what
had called me–A garden of phlox
in full bloom nestled among rocks,
graced by a blossom-filled tree.
It’s wise to follow the promptings
that rise from your inner mind.
They can reveal wonders to you
that your ordinary path would never
Nothing escapes spring’s grace.
It rises from the earth; it falls
from the trees. It sweeps
the earth with its fragrance
and touches each eye
with a sweet and vast
profusion of hues, as if
the promise of the rainbow
itself has come to make its home