23 March 2025 (roar of the wind)
Kristen Lindquist
roar of the wind
roar of the river
snowdrops
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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Filtering by Tag: snowdrops
14 March 2024 (pulling on)
Kristen Lindquist
pulling on
a heavier sweater
the white of snowdrops
29 February 2024 (willing)
Kristen Lindquist
willing suspension of disbelief snowdrops
25 March 2023 (wan)
Kristen Lindquist
wan sunlight . . .
shoveling snow
off the snowdrops
8 March 2022 (snowdrops)
Kristen Lindquist
snowdrops . . .
the sopping school field
fills with geese
19 March 2021 (no snow)
Kristen Lindquist
the first day
the snow is gone
snowdrops
2 April 2019 (snowdrops)
Kristen Lindquist
last of the snow
raking last fall’s leaves
to find snowdrops
April 4: Drooping snowdrops
Kristen Lindquist
Posted with BlogsyApril 11: Morning phoebe
Kristen Lindquist
Waking to the phoebe,
reminded that spring's arrival
wasn't a dream.
reminded that spring's arrival
wasn't a dream.
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| These snowdrops are also a good reminder that spring is here! |
March 31: Easter flowers
Kristen Lindquist
In the front yard, petite snowdrop-like flowers have punched their way through dead leaves in their vernal fervor to reach sunlight. I tore away several leaves that were still whole except for the little hole through which the surprisingly strong flower bud made its escape to the surface--driven what the great poet Dylan Thomas described as "the force that through the green fuse drives the flower."
We all feel it, that urge,
to turn our faces to vernal sunlight,
reawakened.
We all feel it, that urge,
to turn our faces to vernal sunlight,
reawakened.
April 4: Surprises
Kristen Lindquist
This rather dreary afternoon the precipitation has shifted from rain to snow to rain to snow again. As I work at my desk, I periodically check to see what it's doing now. In the time it took me to type those two sentences, what were distinct snowflakes have dissolved into a near-invisible drizzle. I never know what I'm going to see each time I look up.
Earlier, a small bit of motion caught my eye--the first phoebe of spring perched on a branch in the back yard, wagging its tail. A few minutes later, more motion. Although I was alone in the house, I exclaimed, "Whoa!" out loud and ran for the camera... as a flock of six or seven turkeys strutted through the yard. A big hen stopped not ten feet from the window, and I swear she looked right at me, unperturbed, brazen.
Later, as I was heading out to my car, I did another double-take. There, in a barely exposed portion of my flower bed, a small cluster of snowdrops blooms, beautiful little white flowers glowing in the mud. Where did they come from? We've lived here six years and I've never seen them before. I never planted them. What a gift!
Stopped me in my tracks:
snowdrops risen from cold mud
as wet snow still falls.
Earlier, a small bit of motion caught my eye--the first phoebe of spring perched on a branch in the back yard, wagging its tail. A few minutes later, more motion. Although I was alone in the house, I exclaimed, "Whoa!" out loud and ran for the camera... as a flock of six or seven turkeys strutted through the yard. A big hen stopped not ten feet from the window, and I swear she looked right at me, unperturbed, brazen.
Later, as I was heading out to my car, I did another double-take. There, in a barely exposed portion of my flower bed, a small cluster of snowdrops blooms, beautiful little white flowers glowing in the mud. Where did they come from? We've lived here six years and I've never seen them before. I never planted them. What a gift!
Stopped me in my tracks:
snowdrops risen from cold mud
as wet snow still falls.