It is at the edge of a petal that love waits.
― William Carlos Williams

All the field’s a hymn!
All trilliums unfold
white flames above their trinities
of leaves…

now
make of our hearts a field
to raise your praise
~Luci Shaw from “Spring song, very early morning” from The Green Earth: Poems of Creation

The flaw is no more
noticeable, even to me,
than a new moth-hole
in my sweater, or
a very bald spot
on the fabric of
my velvet vest.

Yet when
I hold the cloth
up to the window
the sunlight
bleeds through.
~Luci Shaw “Defect”

The trillium only thrives where death has been.
The mulch of hundreds of autumns
fluffs the bed where trillium bulbs sleep,
quietly content through most of the year.

When the frost is giving way to dew,
the trillium leaves peek out, curious, testing the air.
A few stray rays of sun filtering through the overgrowth and canopy encourage the shoots to rise, spread and unfurl.

In the middle, a white bud appears in humility,
almost embarrassed to be seen at all.

In a matter of days, the petals spread wide and bold so briefly,
curl purplish, wilt and return aground.
Leaves wither and fall unnoticed, becoming dust once again.

Then, beauty will rise from decay.
Death gives way to pure triune perfection.

This year’s Lenten theme:

…where you go I will go…
Ruth 1:16