In his poem "Spring and All", William Carlos Williams wrote that "sluggish dazed spring" was approaching, and that today there is grass but tomorrow "the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf" will appear. Chilled by the "familiar" wind, plants "enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain" but that "Rooted, they grip down and begin to awaken."
Signs of spring are slowly beginning to emerge in the Pacific Northwest. Bulbs are pushing up through the soil and cautious leaves are appearing on some of the shrubs in my yard. Blossoming trees and birdsong are starting to define the days. Throughout the winter, the tree outside my door has sported a growing array of lichens, persisting year-round while the tree's leaves are still just a memory. In the January 17th article in his "Plantwatch" series for the Guardian newspaper, Paul Simons reported on lichens' unworldly survival abilities. Lichens attached outside the International Space Station for 18 months were able to photosynthesize despite being exposed to radiation, extreme temperatures, the vacuum of space and being without water. They can cope with radiation 12,000 times the lethal dose for humans. "Spring and All" is included in The Discovery of Poetry by Frances Mayes published by Harvest in 2001.
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AuthorI am a Northwest artist making collages from mulberry papers stamped by hand from original images that I have carved. Archives
April 2024
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