For days, it’s been raining and the hillside’s a mess.
But I went out anyway, every day, watching for the ferns.
Then, finally, today, they were everywhere, as if
some bell had rung at midnight, telling them to rise.
I confess, it took me a little while to spot them,
given the soggy tangle of decaying leaves
and the upsurge of blades and curls of new green.
But here they were, newly born, their stems
wound ‘round in protection of their baby fronds.
I counted fifteen in this one family, the bold ones tall,
and some just breaking through the soil. In summer
they will cover the hillside like waves on the sea,
billowing in the breeze. And I will watch the show
and tell them I remember the day that they were born.