(Acer circinatum) Gray leaves, ghost leaves buried under the winter snowpack.Now, in spring, they lay their desiccated hands atop the ladders of Oregon grape, hoping to climb out of the grave. —Ross Lake National Recreation Area
(Dicentra formosa)Finally, a flower after my own. You there, hangingin unashamed bivalve clusters at the feet of ancient cedars.So few of them left, you know. Is that what breaks you? Is thatwhat makes you wear your sweet pink ventricles on your green sleeve? —Rockport State Park
False Solomon’s seal, you trade in frankincense and myrrh, filling the forest with your fragrance.There is a wisdom in the ladder of your leaves, clasping their way to each perfusion of scent and blossom.Multiplied beneath the sunlit spaciousness of Douglas fir, you make a Milky Way of stars, as if the skies had pouredthemselves into our lap, born again as a field of flowers, one vast aroma, calling us to a true home. —North Cascades National Park
Starry, starry Solomon’s plume,your constellations floatin clusters lowly wise,zig-zagging asterisks of light,reminding thick and shaggy cedars,though they breach the nether skies,that even smallest things may bearrayed on earth as they are in heaven.
—North Cascades National Park
The Century's work relies primarily on subscriptions and donations. Thank you for supporting nonprofit journalism.
Support us by buying books: