A day quite unbecoming of Florida

 Oh, Florida! The Sunshine State? 

What did the heavens pour down upon you today? 

All day! 

A day quite unbecoming of your reputation;

But fret not; the earth was happy.

Quenched, every blade of grass,

Drunk with desire. To Spring forth. 

My mulberry tree, with its tiny fruit

Just budding on its branches, vying for attention 

With the new leaves of tender green. 

However, the tree is not quite green at the edges. 

It's stately old bark, colored and scarred 

By the sun, beating down in the high summer

Which claims Florida for much of the year. 

Seriously, this back-and-forth 

The uncertainty, the reluctance of Spring

And intermittent return to winter,

So unbecoming of you, Florida. 

Yes, I chide. 

Your reluctancy won't allow me 

To keep the doors open, bringing in 

The sounds from my porch and beyond. 

"You're forgetting," I'm told.

"You've been gone too often, too long." 

I'm told, "It stays cold off and on all the way to March." 

Maybe. What's to remember about that? 

Across the oceans, just like here, 

Is it a reluctant Spring? Maybe I am impatient.

"The daffodils we planted are starting to come up"

I'm told. 

"When are you coming?" I feel wanted.

Yes, I remember, in November, planting bulbs.

Earlier splurging at the Tulip shop in Amsterdam,

Going crazy and buying dozens of  bulbs, 

In a dozen varieties.

"When April, with its showers sweet, 

Has pierced the drought of March to the root.." 

I am reminded of Chaucer's opening verse 

Of The Canterbury Tales.

How easily the daffodils flourish! 

They grow a forest wherever they are planted.

Year after year, a riot of yellow, gently bobbing, 

Skimming playfully on the new green grass.

The daffodils herald the Spring. 

As one by one, the other bulbs,

Follow suit, patiently awaiting their turn,

So as not to steal the other's limelight.

Till at last, the Tulips delight,

In colors and forms, sheer delight

The Tulips will close the season. 

The grand finale. With them

The bulbs decide it's time to hibernate

And go back into the womb

Of Mother Earth. Till next Spring,

When once again,

"April with its showers sweet,"

Will soak the earth to the root.

And I will, again, walk barefoot

On the new green, green grass.

Veenu Banga

February 18, 2024

1:25 am.

The daffodils have started to sprout. It's time to head back. Now, one after another, the bulbs will start blooming till the tulips decide it's time for all the bulbs to go back into hibernation. Nature is never impatient. Nature never complains.