This quirky little bit of free-verse started as a self-challenge with a single inspiration: Easter. I was stumped, perplexed, and when I couldn't get my brain wrapped around any ideas, I started free-writing for ideas. Finally I found inspiration in a single line - "Crimson and golden Columbine trumpet a heavenly tattoo." From there the poem grew like a showy weed, took over, and ran a completely different direction than I meant it to. I regret nothing.

A quick note: the gargoyle in the garden waiting for rain is a recurring theme in much of my best poetry. It's related to a memory from my childhood: a goldfish pond flanked on both sides by stone gargoyles. Those gargoyles are both long-gone along with the goldfish they guarded, but their influence on my dreams has never wavered. To me, the gargoyle waiting for rain is a whimsical symbol of endurance and transience, and an encouragement to be patient and enjoy the little things in life, like rain.

Please do not repost or share without giving proper credit. This is my work alone, for whatever that's worth.

Spring Rapture

One bright Sunday morning,
I slumped down the flagstone walk,
Bypassing the migrating snails with indifference.
A bucket of rancid produce reeked in my grip;
The compost needed feeding.
Soft breezes caressed my cheeks and played with my hair—
Soft breezes sweet and warm,
And perfumed by unseen incense.

All at once, a sound caught my ears—
A sound quite unlike the splat of rotten tomatoes
Connecting violently with packed mulch.
I followed the melodic call to the garden,
Where crimson and golden Columbine
Trumpeted a heavenly tattoo.
Flitting about merrily, the Chickadees and Titmice sang along.
Glo-ry, Glo-ry they trilled
As Lilies and Buttercups rose from their earthy graves.

I followed the Star of Bethlehem to where Daffodils and Wysteria
Bowed and worshipped a plant my garden had never housed:
A powerful, wise, wine-hued trillium.
Its three-fold glossy leaves shone
With a purity not seen Since the Poison Ivy tempted
The Lady's Slipper and Dutchman's Breeches
To partake of the forbidden May Apple of Good and Evil.
That Trillium,
I realized As the Catmint and Dogtooth Violet Fawned upon it—
That Trillium had leaves of Eden.

Like a sudden jubilant snowfall
A flock of song birds of every shape and size fluttered to the ground.
Each gathered a rejoicing bloom and turned skyward—
Destination, the Garden of Eden.
After all, I reasoned with an odd smile,
ALL flowers go to Heaven.
As I gazed around my now empty lot,
I thought not of the fresh compost and the rich, black soil,
Or even the packets of seeds in the shed.
They wouldn't be there—
Heaven is full of seedlings.

I sat on the stone bench,
Musing silently as the ever-patient gargoyle
Waited for rain.
Reflecting on the miracle I'd witnessed,
I retreated but a moment,
Then returned with a thick volume,
Its gilded cover cracked with age.
Settling in the warm earth like a newly planted bulb, I began to read,
Never noticing the migrating snails
Planting new seeds all around me.

As I lost myself in familiar lessons,
The ever-patient gargoyle smiled at me,
Winked once,
And settled in to wait for rain.