Fern
✺
A rainy day is the perfect time for a walk in the woods. I always thought so myself; the Maine woods never seem so fresh and alive as in wet weather. Then all the needles on the evergreens wear a sheath of silver; ferns seem to have grown to almost tropical lushness and every leaf has its edging of crystal drops. Strangely colored fungi—mustard-yellow and apricot and scarlet—are pushing out of the leaf mold and all the lichens and the mosses have come alive with green and silver freshness.
—Rachel Carson
~
This first-light mountain,
its east peak and west peak.
Its first-light creeks:
Lagunitas,
Redwood,
Fern.
—Jane Hirshfield
✺
Poem: “Thin little leaves of wood fern, ribbed and toothed”
Poem: The Decorative Airport Fern Is Not What It Pretends to Be
Poem: On First Seeing a U.S. Forest Service Aerial Photo of Where I Live
Poem: Planting the Sand Cherry
Poem: For Once, Then, Something
Poem: Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard
Poem: Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks
Poem: Visiting a dead man on a summer day
Poem: Locust Trees in Late May
British Pteridological Society