Rain fell all day. But some time after noon
it paused, as if to get a breath, to replenish
its clouds. I threw on a jacket and boots
and set about searching along the path
that leads beneath the quince at the base
of the southern hill. I’m on the lookout
for baby ferns. Not yet, I see. Not yet.
But look at that chorus of stems standing
at attention on that heap of moss, raindrops
dripping from their green hats. And there,
a patch of those round little mushrooms,
and the bud beginning to swell on the quince.
Then, as I turned to go back to the house,
I saw them – Spring Beauties! I blinked
in disbelief. They unfailingly surprise me,
appearing before I expect them, tiny fairies,
so delicate, so filled with light and grace.
“I love you, springtime,” I whisper to the woods
and the sky, fully trusting them to deliver
my message just where it should go.
“Even in rain, springtime. Even in the rain.”