The first grape hyacinth

Late, luscious from drenching
winter rains, plummy clusters
punctuate the grass, bell-like,
slightly sour (so they say) tiny
displays of intricate essence,
much-awaited signs of spring,
wine-bound somewhere
like dandelions, but not here,
purpling our full forty acres
with a slight smell of mildew.

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Our land is full of edible things we don’t eat, from the corn crop in the back field to fragrant magnolia blossoms and grape hyacinths. Every year I say I’ll pick the pawpaws and persimmons, but mosquitos and raccoons get there first. Maybe this year…

Inspired by prompts from Robert Lee Brewer and dVerse.