Each in Its Season

 

It is barely April

and the much maligned dandelion

is among the first arrivals.

She comes hurling herself at our lawns uninvited.

Is that why she is unwelcome?

Radiant little being!

Look at her glowing cheeks

and love her for her steadfast devotion.

 

Meanwhile, we watch impatiently

for our garden darlings:

the tender tulips of May

the pomp and peonies of June

the irises so independent

lilies lithe and lovely in July’s heat.

 

Following these divas

the umbels of elders flower

like points of sweet cream dappled in a basket

and the heady scent of valerian

soothes our sleep through open windows.

 

Soon Queen Anne’s lace

fringes every field and meadow

and ornamental jewelweed

sways tall and taller, pink and laughing

at the stalwart efforts and dense yellow of goldenrod.

 

And then the asters of August,

appearing right on time,

first as questions,

later as purple answers.

 

Each in its season.

Each with its reason.

Why here,

why now?

Choosing to live

is all.