Monday, January 21, 2013
Sunday, January 13, 2013
I don't know what possessed me to do this; I've never done it before. But when that splendid party of growing and blooming and fading was over, and all flowers and leaves shriveled to a crisp, I disassembled the dish garden, stored stones and saucer, then sealed the spent, brown bulbs into a waxed paper bag thinking I might try for a reprise the following year. After a few short stays elsewhere, the packet landed in the cellarway--cool, dark: that sounded right. Then, to be honest, I forgot all about it until last week.
Remembering the paperwhites, I went off in search of them and was surprised to turn up the waxed paper packet in the first place I looked. Success! Not only had the bulbs survived, but when I opened the packet, I found they had already started sprouting in there. Who knew if they'd flower, but no matter. I was tickled to construct a dish garden once more and prepare to watch new life--fresh, beautiful life--unfold again before my eyes.
Warm sun gives two long kisses every day
that makes them glow and grow and grow and glow.
It is so simple, this delight--complete. It's
nothing much, but everything, you know? And
then there's more--a little more each day. They
all but speak: I must. I must. I must... express,
reveal the life contained within.
I hear you I say but do not say.
Forget, remember, shiver then