Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.

              – Theodore Roethke

Dear ones, it has been a long cold winter.

The spring is surely arriving – starting, sputtering.

May we give thanks for our small sustaining breaths.

May we rejoice in our root-held light.

A joyful Easter to all who celebrate!

The turn of seasons often sends me wandering through Roethke’s writing. Here is his awful, beautiful “Florist’s Root Cellar”, where the final line scoops me up every time:

Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch,

Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for chinks in the dark,

Shoots dangled and drooped,

Lolling obscenely from mildewed crates,

Hung down long yellow evil necks, like tropical snakes.

And what a congress of stinks! —

Roots ripe as old bait,

Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich,

Leaf-mould, manure, lime, piled against slippery plants.

Nothing would give up life:

Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.