My flock of White Rocks in their run.
Can Flowers Change Your Life? V. January 17, 2016
The first snow, and finches.
Not for long, those big flakes.
Rain moves in. The hens don’t
notice, so happy in the orchard
after I opened their gate yesterday
that three roosted in the fig trees
last night. The finches have found
not only the feeder but also the
neglected flower bed and last year’s
seeds from the dead cosmos stalks.
I weather my moods, wake early
disturbed by conflicts I haven’t
solved, write them down and
tackle the wing-clipping first.
The hens screech when I catch them,
then settle in my arms to lose enough
feathers to prevent flight and
receive the joys of orchard grasses,
chickweed, bugs, and bits of grit.
My big orchid has a new stem;
the little orchids stretch out their
fifty bloom stalks undeterred
by weather shifts, and the succulent
opens its red florets. The amaryllis
grows by day and night, inching up
whether I believe in its dramatic
red conclusion or not. The flakes
try again but don’t stick, won’t
win this time. There are always
problems, bumps in the road.
I want to live a long time, which
means a regular dose of problems
that require undivided attention
and determination. I can’t slink
away, can’t hide. Must solve
before more land on my plate.
The finches are a good omen,
making dead stalks alive, and
snow flakes today bring only
beauty and birds.
In 2012 this little orchid had one stem. Now it has 50 all in bloom, and outside bloom the daffodils.