I have a vague little project in mind that might involve writing tiny stories about the fairies at Serendib House. On the plane to ICFA, I ended up writing a poem instead of a story. It is hard to write a poem about a flower that doesn’t end up sounding twee, people. But here, here’s a poem.
The white queen presses blithely
through the snow, heedless of lingering
frost and chill, lush white petals draped
gently, a cloak trailing ‘round
her slim green stem.
Double-petalled Flore Pleno dances
with cousin Nivalis, slender and sturdy.
They call the others over – Arnott thick
and honey-scented. Wendy’s Gold brings
butter yellow to the dance; robust Magnet
pushes through thick grass, undaunted. Rare
virescents are tipped and traced with green,
enough to drown galanthophiles in dreams.
Slowly they spread, year by year, ‘til
a carpet of white spreads glorious beneath
sheltering trees. Candlemas bells, fair maids,
Mary’s taper, Eve’s tear – the snowdrops
do not care what humans name them,
en masse, or singularly. They reach together
for the sun, ringing out the joyous song:
– winter is ending,
spring is almost here –