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Tuesday, April 16, 2013

A Solitary Daffodil

In the wake of yet another tragedy, this time in Boston, a city I have loved my entire life, I looked out of my door today to see a single, tiny daffodil, not a host, blooming in the chilly April air. April is indeed the cruelest month, and we all seem beset on a global and personal level. Along with the daffodil there is a brazen dandelion, in full bloom, with another's leaves beginning to assault any spare pavement, crack, or garden bed. I keep thinking of Godden's An Episode of Sparrows when I see these little plants struggling to bloom, against odds, in weather that is unseasonably cold and miserable. My mind turned to fairy gardens, though I don't know if I 'll have time this year to make any. I thought of transplanting violets and other small plants that grow native to my yard to landscape them, but I don't know. There are hostas struggling to reach the sun, their little pointed leaves as delicate as asparagus spears. I see green moss, and the grass trying to grow, a few buds on tulip trees, some roses sporting new, neophyte but deadly thorns. Inside, my poinsettia thrives; pansy that languished indoors is holding her own out. The poinsettia is on its second set of leaves; she mocks me. It is the outdoor flowers that must fight this year. I had some old bulbs, tulips given free at the end of last season. I didn't care; I stuck them into pots and ground anyway. The weather is so haunted, anything could happen. If nothing blooms, then the squirrels won't go hungry. I wonder if my pumpkin reseeding experiment will take hold, and if my gourds will find their way to grow and coil again. Little by little, the garden ornaments find their way out of the shed, and their are pots ready to be planted. And all this in light of yet another tragedy.

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