from the core of the wildflower

the ephemeral of early spring

ephemerals:

a particularly poignant name

to call the wildflowers of early spring,

we seek them where memory and opportunity

whisper they might be,

and there they are:

fringed phacelia, 



like a young snow,

profusely carpet the understory 

of an old cove hardwood forest,

the ground peopled by

white trillium, geranium, trout lily,

anemone, miterwort, spring beauty,
squirrel corn,

Dutchman’s breeches, more,

up the valley ginger rules,

in its understated way,

the maroon cup of its three-pointed flower,

the gold below the green rainbow of its leaf,

all within what Southern Appalachian folks

call a “hollow,” 

an absence and a presence between ridges,

where the earth speaks with life,

instead of resistance to erosion,

the next day we quest after blood-root,

a favorite of ours, who hides herself

behind a brief flowering time,

and a persnickety need to not go 

too high on the mountain,

and there it is!

more bloom than we’ve ever seen together,

just by the road, all congregated as if at a service,

my cameras indulge themselves with glory revealed,

spring wildflowers are ephemeral,

and so are we and all our moments,

we can only hope to bloom with the wonder

that the phacelia and blood-root speak from their core.

by Henry H. Walker

April 5, ‘19