Day 170

It started with one plant.

In early spring, as the green was just starting to take over the landscape,

like a child’s wild coloring.

At my sit spot,

I’d study it.

The way it’s small stem slightly curled in it’s reach for the sun.

It’s tiny blue and white petals,

the way it grew in clumps, little colonies

like groups of friends,

or families.

And I recognized them, from childhood,

as a plant I’d talk, and sing to

in the backyard

before anyone told me

not to talk and sing to plants.

I protected the small patches of little flowers from the lawnmower, asked my Dad to pass them by, which he did, happily. He also, loved growing things.

I called them Rosemaries. A sweet nickname for my small friends.

And finally one day, at my spot,

on hands and knees,

I crouched beside them

paging through Newcomb’s wildflower Guide,

keying out each little part that make a plant unique.

A nondescript name for an “invasive” plant of lawns, roadsides, and waste places.

A small friend, sleeping in the grass,

waiting for me to remember,

and return.

It started with one plant.


Thank you.

I love you.

I’m sorry.

Please forgive me.

Thank you for listening,



photo by Wilson Alvarez

photo by Wilson Alvarez


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