My first spring in Shenandoah did not slake a thirst.
It delivered a desire for more.
Just as the spider descended upon its prey,
I sped into the park looking to feed an appetite.
I nibbled on lichens stretching across rocks,
Searched with the bees for season’s first pollen on Hawksbill summit,
Admired the delicate violets,
And twiddled the pig-tailed ferns.
They’re still unraveling, I presume.
In springtime, water falls.
It falls in torrents.
It falls in trickles.
It burrows pools
Which are safe havens for rising trout.
How did you get up here, little fish?
How in God, and Evolution, and Everyone Else’s name did you get up here?
No matter, I may as well ask the same of the trillium.
From ditches in Wisconsin,
To mother’s backyard,
To the mountains of Virginia,
The Trillium lives on,
And I’m hungry for more.
More spring, summer, learning,
More sun, rain, laughing,
|A great day in SNP. Here’s to a spring and summer full of them.|