“Trillium” for April 20, 2019


Trillium
 
We have a singular one
in our back garden
at the foot of the elm.
 
Each spring it rises
in a trio of tiers:
leaves, sepals, petals.
 
It offers a time-lapse
waltz of color change:
white satin, berry pink, ash.
 
Leslie Schultz

I first learned about these woodland flowers when I was a child in Oregon. When we moved to Northfield, we planted one at the base of our American Elm. Both are still healthy! Our trillium should be blooming in a few weeks, and this year I intend to take some photographs of it when it is fully pink. (The first and second images are from our garden. The middle image was taken at the Northfield Post Office.) Until I was able to observe this single plant, I did not know how the starlight-white of the new trillium bloom turns pink as it ages. Botanically, I read that this results from self-generated anthocyanins–triggered by stress or aging–with the goal of reclaiming and conserving the nutrients in the petals that the trillium is throwing away. I don’t fully understand that mechanism, but I find myself wondering about the way humans seem to move oppositely along the color spectrum–from rosy baby to white-haired elder.

As evidence, I submit the following from a dozen years ago! Below is an image taken at Village on the Cannon. Julia and I are waiting for our Spanish lesson with Susan Hvistendahl and celebrating that a trio of my photographs are on the wall. Today, I note that my face then was rosier, my hair less threaded with white just a decade ago.

Happy Saturday! LESLIE

April 15, 2017 Poem: “Easter Blooms”; Photography by Julia Denne

Easter Blooms
for Julia Denne

When the earth warms
and is riven by rain,
pasque flowers rise,
again, through the straw
of last year, aglow
with the palest hues,
their soft haloes
pulsing with winds.

Nearby, the porcelain-
white, egg-white petals
of bloodroot lift off
from deep-dyed
rhizomes and red
fibrous nests, their green
and lobed leaves still furled,
like praying hands.

Today, they carpet
the still-leafless woodlands
like tiny fallen stars,
in magnitudes
that rocket the mind
toward infinity,
natural benignity,
perhaps even mercy.

Leslie Schultz

My thanks go to Julia Denne, whose beautiful photographs (used here by permission) inspired today’s poem!

The delicacy and brevity of these woodland flowers that emerge even before our northern trees leaf out signals spring to me, even more than the lengthening days or the sight of returning migratory birds. This year in Northfield, the profusion is greater than I can ever remember, and this week, dodging between rain drops, I have been out trying to capture a few images myself, which I might perhaps share in the days to come. For now, I am grateful to see these even earlier blooms from a few hundred miles south. Thank you, Julia!

LESLIE

Check out other participants at the NaPoWriMo Challenge 2017 home site!