Children, It’s Spring       by Mary Oliver

 

And this is the lady

whom everyone loves,

Ms. Violent

in her purple gown

 

or, on special occasions,

a dress the color,

of sunlight. She sits

in the mossy weeds and waits

 

to be noticed.

She loves dampness.

She loves attention.

She loves especially

 

to be picked by careful fingers,

young fingers, entranced

by what has happened 

to the world.

 

We, the older ones,

call it Spring,

and we have been through it

many times.

 

But there is still nothing

like the children bringing home

such happiness

in their small hands. 

 

Opening poem chosen and read by Jill W.

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Photos by Annette P. 

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Photos by Sue J. 

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As I tried to see the gardens through the eyes of a child, I began to feel that I was three or four years old and walking through the garden hand in hand with my Dad. I was overwhelmed by both joy and sadness in missing Mom and Dad. Dad had certainly inspired my love of nature, and there I was talking to Dad as we walked along.

“Daddy, that moss is scary, it looks like ghosts.”…

“I think it looks like angels dancing with the wind — it won’t hurt you, honey.”

 

“Daddy, why are there so many colors? I love all the colors.”

“Honey, I think God made all these colors to make us smile and make us happy.”

 

“Oh, Daddy, I love it here! Can we come back soon?”

 

Photos and reflection by Nancy L.