Lamar Howell's Weblog

I am the one who goes to garden centers in late fall

to look for something that can dare the coming frost

I’m trying desperately to keep the cold away

where everything turns brown and gray

and go against the grain with green

Plant the lonely holdouts who wait

stuffed and root-bound in buckets.

I trust the life still inside them.

I am the one who longs for the first green of spring

the first sprig of grass or yellow of dandelion

and I too am lifted up with the buttercup.

I often go out in the dead of winter to scrap the skin

of any planted stick, and discovering green

lament the scar that I made in my doubt.

Yes, I am the guardian of the extremes,

the limits of life.

I could care less during the verdant, soggy

growing season where everything sprouts

climbs and twists around posts or rails or trees.

In a time of prolific green it all feels too common

too easy too abundant too mow-able

Of course, I can crush anything underfoot with no remorse

in the heyday of fertile fields and gardens and lawns.

But let it struggle, let it be rare,

let it await a life-detective like me

and I will give it mouth-to-mouth and CPR,

constant care

put all my faith in a single stem or bud or pale flower.

Because I seek life

Not for its fulness

but for its rarity!