Yesterday in the Bog Garden, I came upon a single blossom of winter aconite. Amazing bright yellow, a gift - and just around the corner, in the sun, a burst of these earliest of flowers.
A haiku:
In the Bog Garden,
winter aconite sets flame
to last season's rags
At this time of year, I'm in search of firsts. The first killdeer calling, the first crocus, first peeper-frog, first red-and-yellow flowers of maples, first green leaves showing like mist in the treetops.
I grew up where winter was long and dark and cold. I've been fleeing ever since, south and south, now in North Carolina (where it seems those NY winters won't leave me alone!) What gets you through February are those hints and clues, the land coming back to life.

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