More Flowers

I'm pausing from my agitated, pre-book-club cleaning to post a few pictures I took this afternoon. I've found that taking pictures can help me slow down and focus on something other than worries or preoccupations.





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In honor of my irises, I'm including a poem by Emily Dickinson:

Whose are the little beds, I asked
Which in the valleys lie?
Some shook their heads, and others smiled --
And no one made reply.

Perhaps they did not hear, I said,
I will inquire again --
Whose are the beds -- the tiny beds
So thick upon the plain?

'Tis Daisy, in the shortest --
A little further on --
Nearest the door -- to wake the first --
Little Leontoden.

'Tis Iris, Sir, and Aster --
Anemone, and Bell --
Bartsia, in the blanket red --
And chubby Daffodil.

Meanwhile, at many cradles
Her busy foot she plied --
Humming the quaintest lullaby
That ever rocked a child.

Hush! Epigea wakens!
The Crocus stirs her lids --
Rhodora's cheek is crimson,
She's dreaming of the woods!

Then turning from them reverent --
Their bedtime 'tis, she said --
The Bumble bees will wake them
When April woods are red.