Poem for Sunday and Brookside

Crocus
By Alfred Kreymborg

When trees have lost remembrance of the leaves
that spring bequeaths to summer, autumn weaves
and loosens mournfully — this dirge, to whom
does it belong — who treads the hidden loom?

When peaks are overwhelmed with snow and ice,
and clouds with crepe bedeck and shroud the skies —
nor any sun or moon or star, it seems,
can wedge a path of light through such black dreams —

All motion cold, and dead all traces thereof:
What sudden shock below, or spark above,
starts torrents raging down till rivers surge —
that aid the first small crocus to emerge?

The earth will turn and spin and fairly soar,
that couldn’t move a tortoise-foot before —
and planets permeate the atmosphere
till misery depart and mystery clear! —

And yet, so insignificant a hearse? —
who gave it the endurance so to brave
such elements? — shove winter down a grave? —
and then lead on again the universe?

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Saturday was beautiful -- brilliant sunshine, not too cold. We had a bunch of chores to do in the direction of Wheaton, so we went to Brookside Gardens, which had snowdrops, crocuses, and hellebores growing all around the outdoor garden beds, though there were more daffodil shoots emerging than anything else. There were geese, squirrels, and robins enjoying the sun. We also visited the conservatory, which had lots of color -- foxgloves, birds of paradise, orchids, even azaleas.

















Then we stopped at Mom's Organic Market, Petco, and Michael's for various things we needed for us and our furry children. Among the things we bought was a vegan pepperoni pizza, which we had for dinner after watching the Terps' miserable loss to Purdue and the end of the UNC-Virginia game. Since there was no SNL, we listened to Hamilton while I was uploading photos, then we watched some Bones second season episodes.