Swiftly the years, beyond recall,Solemn the stillness of this fair morning.
I will clothe myself in spring clothing,
And visit the slopes of the Eastern Hill.
By the mountain stream a mist hovers,
Hovers a moment, then scatters.
There comes a wind blowing from the south
That brushes the fields of new corn.
R.H. Blyth, Zen in English Literature and Oriental Classics
R.H. Blyth's verse is surely one of the most beautiful ever written, and it is one which ever comes to mind when I am wandering through the first blooms of northern springtime.
The first colorful squill (Scilla sibirica), grape hyacinth (Muscari spp.) and crocus (Crocus vernus) blooms are already showing up in local gardens and lawns, and they are gorgeous, but white tulips always engage my attention when I am wandering about in the village, and they do so in a way which no other spring bloom can ever do.
Eschewing intense reds and gold and purples, the gracefully nodding whites are quiet and assured, and they are delicately perfect in a way that no brighter tulip can ever hope to match. Seeing them, I stand still and catch my breath, wishing ardently that they may bloom for days and days rather than passing away swiftly in April's exuberant gusting and blowing.
2 comments:
Beautiful verse and picture...
In their full glory the flowering trees in my back yard last about a week and a half, then they drop their blossoms into a lovely blanket of pink, fushia and white, a blanket my little girl loves to run upon, spreading her glee with the twittering birds above.
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