“All plants are our brothers and sisters. They talk to us and if we listen, we can hear them.” – Arapaho
Upheld by the simplicities of pleasure,
they gain the light, they formlessly entwine;
and radiant beyond your widest measure
they fall among the voices and the wine.
– Emily Bulcock (1923)
Midwinter clutches on the skirts of June-
And lays her blighting touch on bud and flower,
Her west winds, shrilling, play an eerie tune,
Like witches’ mirth, in wild, triumphant hour!
Grey grows the world – yet see on hill and slope,
As bright thoughts flash through dull grief-laden day,
The red poinsettia raise its flag of hope!
And sudden, Spring seems not so far away.