Poem: Spring in the Deepwoods

In the deepwoods,
there is a quickening,
the delicate toothwort flowers
creep slender and white
to reach for slices of sun
between the gray-barked maples,
while trillium and bloodroot,
wait quietly for their moment
to rise.
Wild plum buds
teeter at the edge of blossom,
tenderly tipping smooth,
shiny branches,
while serviceberry already nods
with full white flowers,
and below, creekside,
the pawpaws gather
to watch the spring swell of water’s flow.
On stony hillsides,
beneath heavy skies
the red arced canes of blackberry
hold the first tentative green curls
that tell of summer promises fulfilled
and between the stones
chickweed flourishes,
tiny white flowers alive against
a nourishing bed of green.
For a moment,
hush your worry
and your fears,
for the wild violets
are in bloom.

This poem is from my upcoming book In the Temple of the Ordinary. I thought of it again this week because I discovered wild yellow violets by the creek this week and they are the first wild yellow violets I remember seeing! I absolutely delighted in them and in combination of the two unlikely words “yellow violets” in to one rooted and lovely truth.


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