Lavender quartet on our
Kitchen counter--
Spikes and drying buds,
Bracts sing of
Old countries, oil, infusions
Of saffron, cinnamon,
In a Song of Solomon.
I believe they grew--
Like me, like you-- where
Flowers fell among nations,
Eras, epochs, along the ancient
Iron veins of Earth, on stone--
Over broken granite bones--
Birth, birth and rebirth,
Here, where this strain sings
With its world under
Sunlight, under rain.
I came across some old directions for weaving lavender cages recently, and handed the page off to a more nimble fingered granddaughter. It certainly is a plant of the ages.
ReplyDeleteIndeed, lavender belongs to the ages as much as it does to the present.
DeleteI can smell the scent of lavender. I see the history it evokes. Lovely poem.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Emma. Anything that danced the continental drift has my admiration.
DeleteDear Geo., Spanish lavender is loved by the bees and me on the balcony. I admire how Norma caught the light of the little vases.
ReplyDeleteYes, definitely an old species. To me it looks like the feather-adornment the Amerindian Chiefs wore. ('Amerindian' I just learned now).
Drove through the lavender fields of Grasse. Overwhelming. And to me lavender has another connotation for "old": my beloved grandma (the redblooded one) always wore lavender perfume, always.
Dear Brigitta, thank you! Indeed, certain scents can recall fond memories and bring the light of other days around us. Will convey your compliment to Norma too.
DeleteFrom the beginning to the end of your poem, holding my breath until last words...lavender is a blessing in my garden. And geraniums.
ReplyDeleteMost kind. Thank you for reading my poem, and for gardening --a stewardship that keeps a world alive.
DeleteYour words are wonderful, deep and stirring.
ReplyDeleteThanks Tom! Your generous comment means a lot to me.
DeleteNicely done.
ReplyDeleteWonderful combo too. Must smell good.
Thanks, Lux, the melody is in the fragrance.
Delete