The elms are late-bloomers.
Maples, redbuds, tulip poplars,
even grandfather hackberry
show off their spring green leaves.
But the elms,
one in each corner of my back yard,
are still asleep.
My young neighbor says,
“I think they are dead.”
I squint and study the elms,
look them up and down
as if he might be right,
but I know he’s not.
Silhouetted against the morning sky,
their upreaching branches bear bumps of
leaves-to-be
and the faint sheen of
newborn green.
My elms bide their time.
No hurry.
No worry.
I imagine that’s their mantra,
their peaceful way of entering spring,
stretching and yawning,
catching a few more drowsy minutes.
These elms have seen seasons come and go
for at least as long as I have,
and they know the deep joy of
lingering
a moment
longer.
They know the deep peace of
unhurried progress,
the contentment of
being a
late bloomer.
– kh –
Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.
Nature of the week:
Shadow of the week:
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Text and photos © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.
