I can imagine how much you’ve missed your cabin and canoe. I hope this is the year the ‘reunion’ can take place, and that you’re surrounded by water lilies when it happens.
Thank you, David. I’d looked for water lilies at the Brazoria refuge, but found none. Then, I found this perfect specimen off a country road: proof, if any were needed, that beauty can be found anywhere.
I mentioned to David that finding this in a backwater’s proof that beauty can be found anywhere. I composed the haiku while sitting at a long traffic light: proof that poetry can emerge anywhere.
I’m glad to hear that. Last week I noticed that the Confederate Rose I feared had been lost to the freeze is sprouting up from the roots and looking rather healthy; I hoped you were moving past that unfortunate experience, too.
Speaking of gaining, my perspective is that since 2008 our banks have had more than a bit of incline in the interest rates they offer to beleaguered savers.
Being able to scoot down the bank until I was nearly at the level of the water helped. I took a few photos standing, to better capture the lily’s yellow center, but decided I much preferred the reflection.
When I came across this, it was at the end of the day and I actually was on my way home. There’s a lesson there: never stop looking! It would look nice printed and framed, I think.
The haiku came to me while I was driving home; that’s why I always have a pen and paper in the car with me. Sometimes lines will come, and if I don’t write them down, they go just as fast! I was so pleased to see the lily. It’s a sure sign of the season’s turning.
I remember the water lily on your wall; I’m glad I could offer you another one! Your white snow may be going, but there are some worthy white substitutes ready to take center stage.
Oh, my. Your haiku’s certainly clever and evocative, but it does have a bit of a “when worlds collide” feel to it. I just checked the weather for your general area, and discovered the lows tonight will be forty degrees warmer here than up there. I’ll put in a rush order for some springtime for you!
I have been surprised by continuing reports of cold and snow, but I try to remind myself thatI grew up in a place where April snow wasn’t exactly uncommon. Of course, our misery is coming: we call it August.
Believe it or not, I’ve encountered exactly four frogs in my time out and about with the camera: two green tree frogs, one young frog of another species that still had a bit of a tail, and one bullfrog. I constantly hear ker-plunks and splashes, but I seem to be frog-blind. Maybe this year.
Last year, I came upon a huge field of lotuses along a county road. You can believe I’m going to make a pass by that spot again!
It’s always fun to find a pristine example of a flower, and in this case, the reflection made it even more special. The wind was howling, but this little pond was protected enough that the flower could float in peace.
A variety of aquatic plants are beginning to emerge now. Not all are in bloom, but the arrowhead is popping up everywhere. I can’t remember if you have plants in your pond, or only around it. I’d bet yours are beginning to stir, too.
It’s quite a different reflection that those you just posted, but the reflection pleased me as much as the flower. I was a little surprised to see this flower after finding none in any of the ponds where they bloom profusely in summer, but someone needs to be first, and this lily clearly decided to accept the task.
Thanks, Lavinia. We have three native species that I know of, and all three are lovely, although I confess a special affection for the yellow ones. I was going to mention something else to you that I only recently learned. Emily Dickinson’s sister was named Lavinia, and she was as avid a gardener as Emily — and you!
The lily with its wings spread, ready to rise toward the heavens.
The photograph, rising to the level of perfection it means to portray.
The season, causing our collective souls to rise in anticipation of cool mornings and warm days.
The sheer joy of simple words so arranged as to cause our spirits to rise up in celebration of Spring.
That’s a whole lot of rising — and isn’t it wonderful? While hopes for a wildflower extravaganza are being scaled back daily, thanks primarily to drought, the sight of a single flower like this can help to fill the gap. There will be surprises everywhere this spring, and even with wildflowers less sometimes can be more.
When do they appear for you? My guess would be May, but maybe June. That is a long wait — no wonder you wander every waking minute when nature begins to wake up. Your season’s so much shorter than ours, it’s hard to grasp. Have your skunk cabbages made an appearance yet? They don’t seem as attractive as the water lilies, but they certainly are interesting, and they are a sign of spring.
Pretty much June although the pads appear a little earlier. Skunk cabbages start to appear in winter although usually just the buds with the “flowers” coming later.
Lagniappe 
I have long loved water lilies, especially when in my little canoe. Hopefully again this summer. Thanks for fueling the dream.
I can imagine how much you’ve missed your cabin and canoe. I hope this is the year the ‘reunion’ can take place, and that you’re surrounded by water lilies when it happens.
I’d also been wondering if this is finally the year for a return from New Zealand.
A glorious image, magnificent in its simplicity.
Thank you, David. I’d looked for water lilies at the Brazoria refuge, but found none. Then, I found this perfect specimen off a country road: proof, if any were needed, that beauty can be found anywhere.
Everything about this post makes my heart leap with joy! Love the lily and your haiku is exquisite.
I mentioned to David that finding this in a backwater’s proof that beauty can be found anywhere. I composed the haiku while sitting at a long traffic light: proof that poetry can emerge anywhere.
Perfect for today. My plants are finally coming up from the ground. Summer is on the way.
I’m glad to hear that. Last week I noticed that the Confederate Rose I feared had been lost to the freeze is sprouting up from the roots and looking rather healthy; I hoped you were moving past that unfortunate experience, too.
Mine came back. Some of these plants are really hardy. Unfortunately, I have had butterflies showing up and have no flowers for them.
The reflection’s as graphically interesting as the real thing.
I thought so, too. I was happy to have a bank with a bit of incline next to the water; it allowed me to gain that perspective.
Speaking of gaining, my perspective is that since 2008 our banks have had more than a bit of incline in the interest rates they offer to beleaguered savers.
Someone needs to share the news with my bank!
Lovely. You really got the low angle view here!
Being able to scoot down the bank until I was nearly at the level of the water helped. I took a few photos standing, to better capture the lily’s yellow center, but decided I much preferred the reflection.
That is framable. So beautifully captured.
When I came across this, it was at the end of the day and I actually was on my way home. There’s a lesson there: never stop looking! It would look nice printed and framed, I think.
Wonderful Haiku, Linda, to go along with a splendid photo., Yes, this lily looks just like it’s “soaring toward summer”!!
The haiku came to me while I was driving home; that’s why I always have a pen and paper in the car with me. Sometimes lines will come, and if I don’t write them down, they go just as fast! I was so pleased to see the lily. It’s a sure sign of the season’s turning.
Gosh oh gosh! My heart soared when I saw that picture. Then there was the haiku. What a great way to start the week.
I remember the water lily on your wall; I’m glad I could offer you another one! Your white snow may be going, but there are some worthy white substitutes ready to take center stage.
That’s just lovely, Linda, the photo and poem.
I’m afraid here it’s
winter’s wings enfold
in the chill of frost-bitten days
sinking toward tundra
Oh, my. Your haiku’s certainly clever and evocative, but it does have a bit of a “when worlds collide” feel to it. I just checked the weather for your general area, and discovered the lows tonight will be forty degrees warmer here than up there. I’ll put in a rush order for some springtime for you!
I have been surprised by continuing reports of cold and snow, but I try to remind myself thatI grew up in a place where April snow wasn’t exactly uncommon. Of course, our misery is coming: we call it August.
There’s a spot on the way up to Greenwood, where we’d drive past a large pond. One inlet would just be cram packed with water lilies.
You snapped a lovely photo of the lily and its reflection.
No froggie?
Believe it or not, I’ve encountered exactly four frogs in my time out and about with the camera: two green tree frogs, one young frog of another species that still had a bit of a tail, and one bullfrog. I constantly hear ker-plunks and splashes, but I seem to be frog-blind. Maybe this year.
Last year, I came upon a huge field of lotuses along a county road. You can believe I’m going to make a pass by that spot again!
Beautiful!
It’s always fun to find a pristine example of a flower, and in this case, the reflection made it even more special. The wind was howling, but this little pond was protected enough that the flower could float in peace.
What a beautiful lily and its doppelganger ain’t bad either. :
A variety of aquatic plants are beginning to emerge now. Not all are in bloom, but the arrowhead is popping up everywhere. I can’t remember if you have plants in your pond, or only around it. I’d bet yours are beginning to stir, too.
From the water’s depths
An offering to the sun
Wrapped in petals white
Perfect! One lily: two haiku. You should add this one to your small stones page; I really like it, and I suspect others would, too.
Beautiful! And a glimpse of what’s to come.
It’s quite a different reflection that those you just posted, but the reflection pleased me as much as the flower. I was a little surprised to see this flower after finding none in any of the ponds where they bloom profusely in summer, but someone needs to be first, and this lily clearly decided to accept the task.
I remember water lilies fondly. Most of the ponds back east where I grew up had them. That is a beautiful photo of the lily and its reflection.
Thanks, Lavinia. We have three native species that I know of, and all three are lovely, although I confess a special affection for the yellow ones. I was going to mention something else to you that I only recently learned. Emily Dickinson’s sister was named Lavinia, and she was as avid a gardener as Emily — and you!
The name also has a nefarious side, though I prefer Emily Dickinson’s sister.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lavinia_Fisher
The Rising. Perfect.
The lily with its wings spread, ready to rise toward the heavens.
The photograph, rising to the level of perfection it means to portray.
The season, causing our collective souls to rise in anticipation of cool mornings and warm days.
The sheer joy of simple words so arranged as to cause our spirits to rise up in celebration of Spring.
That’s a whole lot of rising — and isn’t it wonderful? While hopes for a wildflower extravaganza are being scaled back daily, thanks primarily to drought, the sight of a single flower like this can help to fill the gap. There will be surprises everywhere this spring, and even with wildflowers less sometimes can be more.
Pure perfection!xxx
Thank you, Dina! I was so pleased to find this little gem: perfect, as well as being a wonderful sign of spring.
I like the rippled reflection and, as you already know, love white water-lilies. Still so long to wait.
When do they appear for you? My guess would be May, but maybe June. That is a long wait — no wonder you wander every waking minute when nature begins to wake up. Your season’s so much shorter than ours, it’s hard to grasp. Have your skunk cabbages made an appearance yet? They don’t seem as attractive as the water lilies, but they certainly are interesting, and they are a sign of spring.
Pretty much June although the pads appear a little earlier. Skunk cabbages start to appear in winter although usually just the buds with the “flowers” coming later.