|I spied these sweet crocuses a few days in ago
in Charlottesville, Virginia, where Spring has
arrived a bit earlier than back here in Indiana.
The first of the season . . .
They heard the South wind sighing
A murmur of the rain;
And they knew that Earth was longing
To see them all again.
While the snow-drops still were sleeping
Beneath the silent sod;
They felt their new life pulsing
Within the dark, cold clod.
Not a daffodil nor daisy Had dared to raise its head; Not a fairhaired dandelion Peeped timid from its bed;
Though a tremor of the winter
Did shivering through them run;
Yet they lifted up their foreheads
To greet the vernal sun.
And the sunbeams gave them welcome,
As did the morning air —
And scattered o’er their simple robes
Rich tints of beauty rare.
Soon a host of lovely flowers
From vales and woodland burst;
But in all that fair procession
The crocuses were first.
First to weave for Earth a chaplet
To crown her dear old head;
And to beauty the pathway
Where winter still did tread.
And their loved and white haired mother
Smiled sweetly ’neath the touch,
When she knew her faithful children
Were loving her so much.
by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (1825-1911)
American abolitionist, author,
public speaker, suffragist, teacher
One of the first published African-American women
(novels, poetry, short fiction)
Read more about this brave citizen who, back in 1858,
"refused to give up her seat or ride in the 'colored'
section of a segregated trolley car in Philadelphia
(97 years before Rosa Parks)."
October 20, 2021
A surprising autumnal appearance . . .
October 28, 2021
Just resting . . .
November 4, 2021
A final flurry . . .