Watercolor and pencil – 9 x 12 inches
Not one can write a sonnet or hum a sonatina
or win the Nobel Prize for Literature.
None of them has ever lied or harbored any
jealousy towards peonies or rhododendrons.
They cannot be taught to fear immigrants
or to hate Muslims and Latinos.
Not one contaminates the world with plastics or
cares about your gender or your sexual choices.
They don’t care who wields the scissors or
who fills the glass with water. They only want
A little patch of dirt, some rain and sunlight
and to give us the joy of their presence every Spring.
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2 thoughts to “Tulips”
Simple, intense, the here and now.
I recall being in Madrid one time in April and seeing a brief newspaper article in El País, called, I think, “Tulipanes en Recoletos.” So Jayne and I went there to see. From about Cibeles all the way up Recoletos and on to the Castellana, the boulevards were covered in tulips. It’s a sight to see, to be sure, but the thing that really struck us was how the tulips marked the beginning of Spring, a kind of annual ritual that without fail will bring wonder in long walks among the beautiful flowers. You capture that sense quite well both visually and in your thoughtful comments. The flowers give so much inside a fleeting moment. They are as reliable to be beautiful, fragile, tranquil and giving as we humans are to be fickle, judgmental, cruel, capricious and selfish. There is something of tragedy in the juxtaposition of beauty and malice.