Violets among the Pines
Written in April 2010, Kalamazoo, Michigan
I venture down the hill into Briarwood Arboretum,
For me it is a playground, a meeting place with friends,
Remembering their simple goodness, I want to see them all again.
In the air above me, in the pond, and on the ground,
The honking geese announce the green and growing energy
of spring.
In wholeness, in completeness, life is teeming all around.
But it’s only March – some friends will arrive a little later.
Soon the tall blue heron will return – such a noble, stately one.
Elegant and handsome, he’s always near the pond.
Never in a hurry, quietly standing still.
He doesn’t advertise his presence,
But if he chooses to he will.
I love to see his takeoffs, so graceful, so very s-l-o-w,
Will he make it off the ground? I wonder, I never know.
But he always glides up smoothly in a gentle easy climb,
Not one ounce of wasted effort – he makes it every time.
Those skinny legs dangling back, they are no longer needed,
Tucked up close to his body now – temporarily receded.
Cruising around the pond aloft, he has dominion like a king,
His eyes are sharp and shining, he’s aware of everything.
Insects crawling on the ground – bees that fly and sting,
He knows who’s in his kingdom, he doesn’t miss a thing.
The plum trees, the crabapple, the gooseberry and the pear,
He knows about the violets, too, he sees them over there.
Pairs of people walking past, they like to chit and chat,
With their dogs close beside them, they must stay on the path.
I see two white moths accompanying them.
I wonder if they’ll notice.
And will they see the violets, the violets among the pines?
Talking a mile a minute, will they stop to take the time?
Earlier in March, the arboretum was asleep,
Still covered in ice and snow.
I recall seeing deer and rabbit tracks just two weeks ago.
The cycle of growth came ‘round again, and everything started to grow.
Now the arboretum is filled with songbirds,
Earnestly establishing territory and looking for a mate.
They start out early everyday, sometimes they stay out late.
But does there always have to be a purpose to this ardent daily singing?
Perhaps they’re just singing for fun sometimes, and that’s all that they’re proclaiming.
But why ask all these questions – the whereabouts and whys?
Surya (Sun) has all the answers – giant generator in the sky.
And that cardinal sitting over there, he knows a thing or two.
Listen how he keeps repeating “whit whit whit whit WHIT CHOO!”
That sounds like a good explanation to me. I believe him, I really do.
Singing with that much sincerity, what he says has got to be true.
The robins, too, are out, they’re such determined hoppers!
Combing the grass looking for worms, stopping now and then.
The crows are calling, “caw caw,” and in the bushes are small brown wrens.
Still radiating heat and light, awesome Surya keeps blazes bright,
Working tirelessly ‘til his shift is done, and brother Chandra takes over for the night.
Here by the violets is a carpet of pine needles and a scattering of cones,
Evidence of last year’s growth and energy – ants and spiders call this home.
An inviting place for me to rest in comfort and in ease,
Far better than a rock-hard bench, this soft brown carpet beneath the trees.
The bumblebees are out today, lured by daffodil seduction.
In a wordless competition with the forsythia for screaming yellow brilliance,
Both score a perfect 10 with me in the category of sunny saturation.
I’m glad that the gardener didn’t plant the bulbs in rows,
For daffodils need to radiate cheerful, bold expansion.
Equally engaging are the sulphur moths fluttering in random fashion,
I don’t think they have a flight plan, ‘cause they’re always changing direction.
One day, the arboretum played a trick on me. It happened in this manner:
I was watching a mallard couple, swimming and eating together,
Diving down to look for food – their butts up in the air,
Surfacing with drippy plants in their beaks, shaking their heads in a flutter.
Also floating in the pond was what looked like an old brown slipper.
I thought to myself, “How disrespectful, someone threw their old shoe in the water!”
But then I noticed what looked like intelligent, intentional movement,
The slipper had a slappy tail!
What I thought to be an old brown shoe turned out to be a slick, wet muskrat,
Looking for plants to munch.
Diving down to look for food, he was returning to eat his lunch.
What a funny funny joke he played on me – I laughed and laughed so much!
Muskrats are herbivores I suddenly remembered.
I felt a certain kinship with this drippy small brown friend.
For my diet, too, is mostly plants, so we’re both vegetarians.
He just prefers the water, and I prefer the land.
I left the pond and headed down a gently sloping hill.
There I found a locust tree, protective and strong-willed.
Unlike the other trees nearby, its trunk and branches were wrapped in thorns.
Sharp, thick, three inches long – so menacingly adorned.
The locust tree had created for itself a powerful and effective defense system.
Silently it proclaimed to all, “Don’t touch me, I want to be left alone.”
I asked the gardener if he knew what made that one tree so defensive.
“It was just made that way,” he replied.
Busy with his planting, he was somewhat dismissive.
I left the arboretum still pondering my question.
Seeing a boy on his bike I said hello, getting his attention.
He was a cheerful, friendly child, his mother had named him Pranay.
I decided to tell him about the tree, just to see what he would say.
Without a moment’s hesitation he told me what he thought was true.
It was such a fine, thought-provoking comment,
I would like to share it now with you.
Young Pranay said that all the plants are different, just like you and me,
And that the locust tree was just expressing its unique personality.
Not exactly a scientific answer, but a great one just the same.
Like the answer of a philosopher, but coming from a child,
I’ll probably see him at the arboretum again, ‘cause he goes there everyday.
I think I’ll pose a few more questions to my old new friend, Pranay.
For me it is a playground, a meeting place with friends,
Remembering their simple goodness, I want to see them all again.
In the air above me, in the pond, and on the ground,
The honking geese announce the green and growing energy
of spring.
In wholeness, in completeness, life is teeming all around.
But it’s only March – some friends will arrive a little later.
Soon the tall blue heron will return – such a noble, stately one.
Elegant and handsome, he’s always near the pond.
Never in a hurry, quietly standing still.
He doesn’t advertise his presence,
But if he chooses to he will.
I love to see his takeoffs, so graceful, so very s-l-o-w,
Will he make it off the ground? I wonder, I never know.
But he always glides up smoothly in a gentle easy climb,
Not one ounce of wasted effort – he makes it every time.
Those skinny legs dangling back, they are no longer needed,
Tucked up close to his body now – temporarily receded.
Cruising around the pond aloft, he has dominion like a king,
His eyes are sharp and shining, he’s aware of everything.
Insects crawling on the ground – bees that fly and sting,
He knows who’s in his kingdom, he doesn’t miss a thing.
The plum trees, the crabapple, the gooseberry and the pear,
He knows about the violets, too, he sees them over there.
Pairs of people walking past, they like to chit and chat,
With their dogs close beside them, they must stay on the path.
I see two white moths accompanying them.
I wonder if they’ll notice.
And will they see the violets, the violets among the pines?
Talking a mile a minute, will they stop to take the time?
Earlier in March, the arboretum was asleep,
Still covered in ice and snow.
I recall seeing deer and rabbit tracks just two weeks ago.
The cycle of growth came ‘round again, and everything started to grow.
Now the arboretum is filled with songbirds,
Earnestly establishing territory and looking for a mate.
They start out early everyday, sometimes they stay out late.
But does there always have to be a purpose to this ardent daily singing?
Perhaps they’re just singing for fun sometimes, and that’s all that they’re proclaiming.
But why ask all these questions – the whereabouts and whys?
Surya (Sun) has all the answers – giant generator in the sky.
And that cardinal sitting over there, he knows a thing or two.
Listen how he keeps repeating “whit whit whit whit WHIT CHOO!”
That sounds like a good explanation to me. I believe him, I really do.
Singing with that much sincerity, what he says has got to be true.
The robins, too, are out, they’re such determined hoppers!
Combing the grass looking for worms, stopping now and then.
The crows are calling, “caw caw,” and in the bushes are small brown wrens.
Still radiating heat and light, awesome Surya keeps blazes bright,
Working tirelessly ‘til his shift is done, and brother Chandra takes over for the night.
Here by the violets is a carpet of pine needles and a scattering of cones,
Evidence of last year’s growth and energy – ants and spiders call this home.
An inviting place for me to rest in comfort and in ease,
Far better than a rock-hard bench, this soft brown carpet beneath the trees.
The bumblebees are out today, lured by daffodil seduction.
In a wordless competition with the forsythia for screaming yellow brilliance,
Both score a perfect 10 with me in the category of sunny saturation.
I’m glad that the gardener didn’t plant the bulbs in rows,
For daffodils need to radiate cheerful, bold expansion.
Equally engaging are the sulphur moths fluttering in random fashion,
I don’t think they have a flight plan, ‘cause they’re always changing direction.
One day, the arboretum played a trick on me. It happened in this manner:
I was watching a mallard couple, swimming and eating together,
Diving down to look for food – their butts up in the air,
Surfacing with drippy plants in their beaks, shaking their heads in a flutter.
Also floating in the pond was what looked like an old brown slipper.
I thought to myself, “How disrespectful, someone threw their old shoe in the water!”
But then I noticed what looked like intelligent, intentional movement,
The slipper had a slappy tail!
What I thought to be an old brown shoe turned out to be a slick, wet muskrat,
Looking for plants to munch.
Diving down to look for food, he was returning to eat his lunch.
What a funny funny joke he played on me – I laughed and laughed so much!
Muskrats are herbivores I suddenly remembered.
I felt a certain kinship with this drippy small brown friend.
For my diet, too, is mostly plants, so we’re both vegetarians.
He just prefers the water, and I prefer the land.
I left the pond and headed down a gently sloping hill.
There I found a locust tree, protective and strong-willed.
Unlike the other trees nearby, its trunk and branches were wrapped in thorns.
Sharp, thick, three inches long – so menacingly adorned.
The locust tree had created for itself a powerful and effective defense system.
Silently it proclaimed to all, “Don’t touch me, I want to be left alone.”
I asked the gardener if he knew what made that one tree so defensive.
“It was just made that way,” he replied.
Busy with his planting, he was somewhat dismissive.
I left the arboretum still pondering my question.
Seeing a boy on his bike I said hello, getting his attention.
He was a cheerful, friendly child, his mother had named him Pranay.
I decided to tell him about the tree, just to see what he would say.
Without a moment’s hesitation he told me what he thought was true.
It was such a fine, thought-provoking comment,
I would like to share it now with you.
Young Pranay said that all the plants are different, just like you and me,
And that the locust tree was just expressing its unique personality.
Not exactly a scientific answer, but a great one just the same.
Like the answer of a philosopher, but coming from a child,
I’ll probably see him at the arboretum again, ‘cause he goes there everyday.
I think I’ll pose a few more questions to my old new friend, Pranay.