20 Bahman 1404
Quatrain 18 of 75
“I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.”
Reflection · Winter 1404
In winter the buried Caesars and the once lovely heads are at their most active — the quiet chemistry of decomposition proceeding under the frozen ground, the matter reorganizing toward spring. The garden is dark and still on the surface and busy underneath. I sometimes think. Winter is the right season for this kind of provisional, unprovable thought.
Hold this verse in winter as you would hold a pressed flower — carefully, knowing it is both the thing it was and the thing it is becoming. The garden is full of the history it is composting. The once lovely lips are becoming the tender green that will fledge next spring's river bank. The buried Caesar is becoming the reddest rose of next Ordibehesht. Next spring's hyacinth is in preparation. The matter is moving. The lovely heads are becoming lovely flowers.