by Gillian K Ferguson31 Dec 2013
Snowdrops manifested like a prayer.
A holy white multitude
in first communion
with blank, dour, clanking sky.
Seasonal pilgrims -
Puritans in frosted collars, ice lace.
Shivering on emaciated green wires
skeletal North wind clutched,
tugged, shook violently -
but they were secret ballerinas,
delicate but so sinewy strong:
surviving a billion winters -
before Winter knew a name,
to spin plant skin from snow,
light with barely a pulse.
Just like the Polar Bear, as patiently,
has spun metamorphosed fur
from his own home of snow,
crushed white star-bones, sun,
shimmer-minerals of sea-water salt.
Twitching chameleon hare
is immortal snow on the harsh munro.
The annual lighting of their bulbs
is a ritual under this Presbyterian temple
of leafless trees: is their simple religion.
To be harbingers - embodied lights
in the droning mouth of darkness.
Coruscating white flesh. Luminous even
in evil blue switchblade dusk
as sparkling little birds still die.
Cultivating symbolism as gene.
Another work of genius from the stars.
Flowers infiltrating Earth
while Pluto wasn’t looking:
ruby Pomegranate seeds
stole their blood and season,
but still they stalwartly come - for us.
A snow-born flower: a winter prayer.