Saturday, March 30, 2019

Metamorphosis and a Long Journey

You, tender little thing, along with millions of friends and relatives, were born down south, beyond the border in romantic, sunny Mexico. And yet, somewhere in the four steps of your life, perhaps while nibbling on the leaves of jalapeno pepper plants, as a hungry caterpillar, you remembered a song and had a deep desire to lift off someday, and head north. Perhaps it was part of an unspoken, mandatory plan. Patiently, you waited for the rain to subside.

Inside that chrysalis, you changed into your superhero outfit. A flashy number in shades of tangerine orange, against a background of black, with white polka dots decorating the edges. In case you were wondering, the chocolate-hued lingerie coordinates perfectly. Elegant, almost like a miniature Monarch. The media calls you a Painted Lady, but you know you’re more than your colors. You have the strength to travel thousands of miles, and are determined to see the world.  

When the rains drained into the sandy soil, you emerged, flapping adorable, transparent wings. Traveling by day, you avoided windshields and swooping birds that rushed towards you, as you fluttered over fences.
Taking a short break on my rosemary plants.

At times, you’d stop along the way for pollen refreshments before checking out the famous super bloom of poppies along the fifteen freeway. 

The warm spring air and the blossoms of sweetness will carry you as far as you desire. Goodbye butterfly. Safe travels.  

Monday, March 11, 2019

Ten More Days Until Spring!!

Signs of Spring

This Monday in March,
I searched for evidence.
A comforting reassurance hidden behind turbulent clouds.
The garden fairies were sure to be shivering,
But the sound of tiny wings fluttered above.
Their voices subdued,
as if humbled by the weather.
Perhaps working overtime and exhausted,
paintbrushes dry,
canvases sodden with months of rain,
they hide in the wild clover.

Stitching petals in the overgrowth,
behind evergreens and tall grass,

on the other side of the gazebo,
they create the magic.

I noticed small hints.
Wee colorful scraps,
vivid shreds,
akin to short pieces of yarn,
swept into the dustpan after crafting.
They popped out near the rosemary.

Tiny bouquets of pink,

sprouting bulbs,
a single African daisy.
Each a smile bursting from the soil;
The promised harbingers of Spring.

Physical hope,
here in my garden.

--Eve Gaal