March 1st -- in like a lamb

Sunny side up: On the first day of March, the first yellow crocus in my balcony garden unfurled in the warm sunshine.

I, too, "unfurled" a bit while working outside as I finally was able to remove one layer: the fleece beneath the Gortex. Alternating between being overdressed and underdressed for the weather -- a sign March has arrived.

First Crocus
©Christine Klocek-Lim (source: November Sky, 2006 poems)

This morning, flowers cracked open
the earth’s brown shell. Spring
leaves spilled everywhere
though winter’s stern hand
could come down again at any moment
to break the delicate yolk
of a new bloom.

The crocus don’t see this as they chatter
beneath a cheerful petal of spring sky.
They ignore the air’s brisk arm
as they peer at their fresh stems, step
on the leftover fragments
of old leaves.

When the night wind twists them to pieces,
they will die like this: laughing,
tossing their brilliant heads
in the bitter air.

Iris reticulata 'J.S. Dijt'

Two days earlier, 'J.S. Dijt' was an unremarkable, purple-tipped green stem. Yesterday afternoon, I arrived home from work in time for the grand opening:

From a certain angle, the flower's structure, symmetry and grace reminded me of an origami crane. Do you see what I see? Or perhaps you can imagine a train, a child and a grandmother deep within its heart.

Origami bird,
Your feathers unfurled and fresh,
Please don't fly away.

I planted these bulbs in early December and never expected to be enjoying them in mid-February, ahead of the snowdrops and crocuses. Viewing this first early-bloomer for a few minutes yesterday dispelled my fretting about unfinished household chores. It was an unexpected, sorely needed respite and delight -- the garden's gifts.

This is my first season enjoying Iris reticulata in my own garden and I've just begun to study it. Here are some of the resources I've bookmarked:

• Photos: Google Plant Images
• Growing tips: Backyard Gardener, Herbs2000, Avon Bulbs

Although it is not specifically about I. reticulta, I enjoyed reading this: Spring Peepers—Little Bulbs to Trumpet a New Season. I agree -- like the littlest birds, the smallest bulbs "sing" the prettiest songs.