Empty, and hungry for words, I troll the waters and snag some sweet ones with a description of a field in February that delights. And I remember leaning over flowers in a courtyard little more than a week ago, and one of the images I captured then that might pair nicely with the verses. And I put them together here.
February: Thinking of Flowers
Now wind torments the field,
turning the white surface back
on itself, back and back on itself,
like an animal licking a wound.
Nothing but white–the air, the light;
only one brown milkweed pod
bobbing in the gully, smallest
brown boat on the immense tide.
A single green sprouting thing
would restore me. . . .
Then think of the tall delphinium,
swaying, or the bee when it comes
to the tongue of the burgundy lily.
by Jane Kenyon