One Bird Sings

One bird sings…
a flock may be drawing near.
One flock wings north;
another may be close behind.
At journey’s end,
they build new nests and
In soft spring mornings,
one by one,
They sing, coaxing the sun
above east’s horizon,
chattering wildly
when that job
is done.

One green blade emerges
from damp soil…
a field may be verdant soon.
Dry stubble and hard ground
will disappear
as blade after blade pierces
winter’s last traces
and grass carpets unroll
and unroll
unroll,
unroll.

One flower buds and opens…
a garden
may be blooming before long.
One crocus cups
a drop of rain
and purple goblets raise themselves
each thirsting for its splash of spring.
One daffodil blares yellow through its trumpet
and yellow horns sing spring,
send echoes from valley to valley,
hill
to hill.

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About inkpaintwords

A feminist writer and artist with a penchant for all things French, living in Washington DC. My love of language led me, indirectly, to my pleasure in gardening, drawing and watercolor. It began with a book, a collection of New Yorker garden columns by Katherine White, wife of its founding editor E.B.White. Her enthusiastic appraisal of the literary merit of various garden catalogs led me to collect and keep her favorites as well as to hoard with them some more recently-emerged seed, bulb and seed catalogs. The beautiful catalogs inspired me to little by little turn our entire front lawn (our home had a wooded ravine close behind) into a garden. That grew into a lovely site with two simple arches, a gliding bench on a little sitting patio and modest slate paths winding through beds of shade lovers and whatever plants supposedly in need of full sun that I could manage to coax into colorful healthy bloom. A curiosity about color and color theory emerged as I became keenly interested in impressionist painters; that interest merged in some way with my urge to garden. I acquired more than one book about Monet’s garden and gardens of other impressionist painters, both French and American. One day I picked up a magazine for painters, and found inside an article about a painter I’d known. Among examples of her splendid watercolor paintings was her watercolor of her garden at that time. Suddenly I could think of nothing more exciting than painting my garden. I enrolled in her watercolor class in The Art League in Alexandria, VA. The influence that the collection of Katherine White’s columns about the literary merits of certain garden catalogs has had on my life has come full now. Ink, Paint & Words combines what has become an obsession with drawing and watercolor with my passion for language. Yes, I still garden. A table full of blooming potted plants sits on my apartment patio, backed by an ivy covered fence with park trees behind. My patio, and my larger environment of Washington DC, together provides wonderful vistas for drawing and painting. For a number of years annual trips to France gave me and my companions extravagantly colorful panoramas and charming tableaux for brush and pen. And yes, now I’ve painted in Monet’s gardens several times. But that, as they say, is another story.
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2 Responses to One Bird Sings

  1. Patrise says:

    this looks great!
    I love your phrases… yellow horns sing spring
    and just in time for Equinox/Ostara. We’re celebrating Sunday with and EGGSiting dinner at Josephine’s!

  2. “One Bird Sings” was written for a Vernal Equinox celebration in 2010. A friend said she loves the small very first signs that spring is on it’s way and in our Washington DC climate that’s often from early February through mid-March. Then the glory begins,
    and soon along Rock Creek Parkway there is a hillside blanketed with daffodils.

    Next week’s poem was written for Vernal Equinox in 2007. I won’t even mention it’s name because that would be too big a clue to the content of the poem. The moment of Equinox actually is very brief–immediately after, Spring is off and running. Now that is a very big hint.

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