Early Riser

And now as the iron rinds over
the ponds start dissolving,
you come, dreaming of ferns and flowers
and new leaves unfolding,
upon the brash
turnip-hearted skunk cabbage
slinging its bunched leaves up
through the chilling mud.
You kneel beside it. The smell
is lurid and flows out in the most
unabashed way, attracting
into itself a continual spattering
of protein. Appalling its rough
green caves, and the thought
of the thick root nested below, stubborn
and powerful as instinct.
But these are the woods you love,
where the secret name
of every death is life again - a miracle
wrought surely not of mere turning
but of dense and scalding reenactment. Not
tenderness, not longing, but daring and brawn
pull down the frozen waterfall, the past.
Ferns, leaves, flowers, the last subtle
refinements, elegant and easeful, wait
to rise and flourish.
What blazes the trail is not necessarily pretty.


Skunk Cabbage, by Mary Oliver


Apparently skunk cabbage are thermogenic, which means they can generate enough heat to raise their temperature above that of the surrounding air. This allows them to melt ice and snow and emerge earlier than other plants. They also have contractile roots, which serve to pull the plant deeper into the ground and ensure it remains at a proper level with the surface even during times of drought. Guess what they smell like.

---

It should go without saying that none of this has any connection to the pleasant brunch we shared with the in-laws this afternoon. I ate enough to require a nap later in the day. I'm sure the mimosas had nothing to do with it.