Spotted today in my back yard:
I believe it’s an occasion worthy of a poem, don’t you?
Welcome, wild harbinger of spring!
To this small nook of earth;
Feeling and fancy fondly cling
Round thoughts which owe their birth
To thee, and to the humble spot
Where chance has fixed thy lowly lot.
Bernard Barton—To a Crocus.
I was actually going to go with “In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer,” thank you Camus, but that one sounds so darned dramatic and dire and triumph of the human spirit-y, in light of the fact that it’s just a cheerful little crocus in the middle of a not-particularly-harsh Raleigh winter season.
And yet: last Thursday I saw this crocus peek out, just a little tiny yellow bud, and last Friday it was sleeted upon and then encased in ice. It was still iced over on Saturday, and I took the time to mourn that it had popped out too early and was lost. On Sunday, it was forgotten, and on Monday: