In the early morning haze
at the edge of a snowy field
bright white blossoms glow upon a single branch
a startling sight in early March–
(too soon for shadbush,
perhaps confused by global warming?)
As light filters through birch saplings
I see now the branch hangs broken like an elbow
Still the blossoms
hold the hope of renewal
set in even intervals along the branch:
a curious arrangement
Good will come where good has been sown
life from life well-tended
even the broken shall bloom
As day fades into evening air
I see the truth of these promised blooms:
a bracket fungus piptoporous betulinus
bursts in whorls from cracking wood
In pale decay, death mimics life,
a required demise at cycle’s end:
the blossoms that do not fade
In these times when truth goes underground
to wait its turn
We bide our time
We mulch and chew and churn the soil
for life anew
We make ourselves the stewards of the wood
We are
the blossoms that refuse to fade
Adrian Dunn is a second-generation Californian, transplant- ed several decades ago to the Northeast. She earned a B.A. in Anthropology, with a Women’s Studies minor. Her short essays about preserving the wild have appeared in the Greylock Independent. In addition to memoir writing, Adrian wants to use her writing to high- light our common connection with the natural world.