Gedanken Spring

The daffodils and tulips are gone, the dogwood bloom is over and the azaleas are fading. And just when I thought the spring's floral display was complete, up jumped a mysterious flower. Delicate little white things with pale yellow/green eyes protruding from a mass of grassy leaves. They're huddled in dark shadows of the flagging tulip leaves and emerging hostas. I didn't plant it and have never seen it in the 12 years I've lived here, but there are two small masses that seem to have come from nowhere. If it keeps up like this, I'll have a glorious flower bed filled with a continual bloom from February to May without having done a lick of work. My kind of gardening.

The mystery white flowers in my beds...

Memory and desire, stirring

So this happened. And every time it does, it takes me by surprise. That brazen trollop Nature, after months of shamelessly torturing us with her icy necrotic pincers, comes suddenly, voluptuously bounding from her hibernation bed and rubs her nectar scented genitals in our faces. How are we to resist her delirious charms? I, for one, will not. I will wrap myself in her warming embrace and trip through her kaleidoscopic fun house, her floral fantasia, and once again be reassured that hope and beauty persist and prevail. Somehow makes you glad to be alive, doesn't it? 

Nectar scented genitals