Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Queen Anne's Lace
I saw them along the road, singly, or in sparse groupings, the sight infrequent enough to form afresh the image -each time it appeared- of a cupola, of fragile little blooms that scattered at the wisp of a breeze.
But what were they called? In my mind, at that moment, was a lacuna that once held the verbal equivalence of this flower. I combed through the remaining crannies, pulling out words that attempted to approximate: lilies of the valley, hydrangeas..., only to toss them aside, one by one.
When the missing words returned, restored to their proper places, what was real became more so.
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1 comment:
If you are by the marsh,the Sweet Flag is blooming.
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