A Warning to all crocuses
This is not a good year for blooming.
The political situation is vile, mean spirited
Cruel and dangerous.
The international situation is worse.
Desperate …mean spirited, cruel and explosively dangerous.
Climate change and global warming threaten every living thing on earth.
Rising seas and temperatures
Disappearing species and habitats
…And heedless of it all, the crocuses come up.
Look at them,
Hopeful splashes of color heralding the end of winter.
Pushing up out of soil that’s parched for more than water.
But in New England
Spring is fickle at its best.
One day summer,
Next day winter,
And then a rainbow over all
Before the snow begins to fall
And still the crocuses come up…
Heedless of the 24 hour news cycle.
Of politics and war
Of weary strangers begging at the door.
Of not enough or too much rain.
Of brother against brother slain.
Clustered in the freezing winds of early March…too soon,
They throw caution to the wind…and bloom.
I wrote this poem 2 years ago, and decided that it still speaks its truth. I still need to remind myself of the message. Keep on keeping on. Don’t let the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune get to you…even though they are flying all around us. The crocuses come up no matter what. Their job is to be beautiful and to die off, to rest for another year, maybe multiply a little bit under the earth where no one can see, and come up again. Not more beautiful….but just as beautiful. Tough little symbols of resilience and hope in a world that looks like it’s coming apart at the seams….but it’s not. It only looks and feels that way. Still, I need reassurance. Thanks you purple white and yellow, guys. You’ve done it again.