Small Treasures

 

There are vestiges of the small treasures
past their prime, already bloomed, the
flower heads dried, foliage yet maturing, still
proud, but devoid of the evanescent bloom.
There are in evidence others with similar
foliage to those whose presence we hunt
but they are unremarkable lilies, their broad
spear-shaped leaves deep green and promising
the flowers wan and unprepossessing.

Mountain sorrel is in bloom, and so too
blackberries, with their sharp, white, starry
flowers. Patches of yellow hawkweed and
buttercups sit alongside the deep forest trail
close to lushly swirling ostrich ferns.
Dogwood begin to form their floral panicles
and a meadow's-worth of bunchberry
their cheery white faces in peer-review
bloom follow our curious presence.

Then here, and there, sometimes shy
sometimes bold, in grand isolation and
group sequestration, behind and beneath
ferns and hemlock branches, pale pink
white and robustly blushing, they display
themselves, the grand dames of the moist
forest floor, those Ladies Slipper orchids
with their ballooned, nodding heads held
proudly above the rich humus of the forest
soil, and the spray of the mountain stream.