edition of 99
6.25″ h x 4.5″ w
Buried in the soil
the fertile corm
nests quietly,
sprouting
nourished
in the darkness,
growing
immanently
toward the light
we too
are sometimes buried,
hidden
deep
and cold,
in the icy walls of
our doubts
our fears
our creative stories
the ego mind
says, show me now,
then NOW!
s c a r e d t o d e a t h
of all it cannot see,
playing tricks on us
seducing illusions
convincingly flooding
the mind
the warrior crocus
w a i t s
with no trace of the light it seeks,
simply being a crocus
invisibly budding
invisibly sprouting
quietly growing
toward
all it cannot see
her hard frozen home
our hard frozen thoughts,
her veiled sprouting
our mysterious nudges,
bit by tiny bit
second by second,
she grows in darkness
we grow in darkness
as we wait
in our dark cold nights
days
months,
we too are
sprouting
healing unseen wounds
called to waiting
trusting
solely What we cannot see
concealed for months,
in one unexpected
splendid moment
we witness a wondrous cluster
of golden hues
effortlessly
popping through
the cold crusted earth
as if from a distant world
the poignant
short green spears
serenely point
the way
to a Higher Realm
far
f a r
beyond the fading
gray-blue winter sky
her vibrant petals
and lush green spears
joyfully reveal
Spring greeting us again
as we are reminded
of Promises
fulfilled,
for her
and for us
Inspiration for Golden Promises and Promises
Both Promises and Golden Promises were inspired by warm memories of Pennsylvania’s early spring days. Choosing a favorite crocus hue proved impossible, however, the golden yellow and vibrant violet ones remain most vivid and cherished to me.
The dependable crocus colorfully proclaimed spring’s impending arrival; long before there was any other visible indications of its approach (save perhaps the tiny snowdrops). Many times these delicately, determined crocus denied the crusted snow its tenacity, popping their brilliant little heads through layers of both ice and snow. Most times, the short emerald, spear-like tips appeared precisely when we had simply “had enough” of the cold, short winter days and mounding drifts of snow. They promised new and hopeful days exactly when many grew sluggish and experienced the depths of “winter blues”.
In Lancaster County, the yearly discovery of the first crocus petals seemed an unspoken child-like contest among female adults in their banter: “Are your crocus up yet? Mine are!” Within these heart-warming memories, I received a larger gift. Here, in the desert of Arizona, we do not experience the unexpected joy of the crocus announcing the coming of spring. Yet, each spring I fondly remember their quiet sweetness and the contagious hopefulness they impart. The crocus promises the imminent arrival of spring.
The tiny, brilliant crocus continues, consistently, each spring, to remind me of mysterious promises in its sweet whisper: nature knows…nature shows…the Way.
