Spring let me find her a few Sundays ago. I don't do her justice, but I revel in these glimpses of newness. They are a sunny memory after a stormy week.
Even the wasps were industrious, although they craftily hid their handiwork on the underside of the leaves.
The anole preferred camouflage, but it rustled among the dried leaves and revealed itself. A moment later, it dashed into hiding, but I preserved his hesitation.
Even the dragonfly stopped to admire his shadow. Fortunately, everyone I met on this walk was small and shy--I prefer not to meet anything larger when I lose myself among the trees. (Once an armadillo and I frightened each other when we met on a trail, and I don't even want to think about the king snake.)
I hide, too, from the omniscience of the world. Anyone on high looking down into this garden would find me peering up through the canopy. I am a human-sized anole.
A genteel Southern flower I'll never be.
But maybe I can reflect beauty.
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