The Bluet

I love Spring.  It ties with Fall for my favorite season.  Whichever one is closest is my current favorite.  This winter was a particularly difficult one for me so I am especially grateful for the symbolic renewal and rebirth of this delightful season.  I thought I'd jumble together a celebratory post of sorts.  I'll start with 'The Bluet'.

This little flower growing in my yard, while I'm sure it's not a bluet, reminded me of 'The Bluet' by James Schuyler.

****
The Bluet
by:  James Schuyler

And is it stamina
that unseasonable freaks
forth a bluet, a
Quaker lady, by
the lake? So small,
a drop of sky that
splashed and held,
four-petaled, creamy
in its throat. The woods
around were brown,
the air crisp as a
Carr's table water
biscuit and smelt of
cider. There were frost
apples on the trees in
the field below the house.
The pond was still, then
broke into a ripple.
The hills, the leaves that
have not yet fallen
are deep and oriental
rug colors. Brown leaves
in the woods set off
grey trunks of trees
But that bluet was
the focus of it all: last
spring, next spring, what
does it matter? Unexpected
as a tear when someone
reads a poem you wrote
for him:  "It's this line
here." That bluet breaks
me up, tiny spring flower
late, late in dour October.
****

...which in turn also reminded me of my supremely attractive creative writing professor that assigned this poem the first time I read it... but I digress.


UPDATED TO ADD: I wrote this post about a month ago and never posted it.  Busyness got in the way, I guess.  Anyway, I'll stop at 'The Bluet' right where I started. I figured I should post this while it's still technically spring.  Btw, There are still some of these flowers in my yard.  They're much taller now.