flowers!

the artist reveals

storms come in, like a lion,
and I adjust my plans,
hunker down one day
and give up a plan to hike hard and high
on the way back home,
the old growth forest there still calls to me
but I don’t want to risk high winds, rain, & lightning,

so instead I let the storms pass
and hike fast and sure up a long valley,
mostly for the aerobics, yet I hope for flowers,

and, instead of appreciating the canvas ready for spring,
the artist surprises me with stroke after stroke of flower:
blood root pop forth, perfect white buds,














erect and ready to open soon,
a few, bedraggled now, opened before the storms,












hepatica everywhere on some slopes,
all bow as if in deference,














I find the first geranium,








the first delicate Dutchman’s breeches,








a few phacelia, lacy and perfect,








and easier to appreciate before they overwhelm us
with their upcoming extravagance,

what I see is perfect for now
and contains within it multitudes of possibility to come,
like the students I teach, amazing now,
but, watch out, world,
for how many more ways
the artist will find to reveal herself.

by Henry H. Walker
March 3, ’12