Why Does the Spring Cuyahoga Valley Feel This Year Like Speaking French to Me?

 

I did not know before
that violets, cross-stitched on the floor
to tart up the alternating April
and the mending May,
could be white as well—

and even so many to be found,

like itinerant tiny kitten paws,
scattered and spread
beside this valley trail,

amid all the purple pennons
unfurled by the season’s minute
blooming heads,
timid and modest

before all the other colors come,
bounteous and brimful
in their released blaze.

How reserved and discreet
is this printemps little print,
the premier marvel and presage
of the light surging out
and reclaiming life within!

All those bared, starlike whites—
sous la pluie pourprée et violette!
Toutes les belles blanches,
tendres et douces,
tels de petits baisers
sur la joue offerte.