New England winters are not Arctic but certainly long enough and cold enough to make us welcome spring in all of its warmth and beauty. I’ll bet we all have our favorite spring flowers and plants; mine are lilacs. We had them in our backyard—the light purple shade—and I looked forward to their heady scent and blossoms every year.
Here is a poem I wrote about lilacs.
What can be the reason for this extravagant waste,
This tower on tower of blossom,
This delirium of scent?
For biology’s purpose
Even a particle will serve
To call pollinators
Now and then.
Surely this would be enough.
Yet like the careless sun
Radiating in all directions its prodigal heat
(And who will use it but us?)
The lilac spends itself utterly,
And who will care?
Not bees surely But the occasional human
Who will, Like Moses,
Turn aside to see this thing
No less than from the bush that burned but was not consumed,
A certain revelation.