enough to make you happy

Parable of the Gift

My friend gave me
a fuschia plant, expecting
much of me in cold April
judgment not to leave it
overnight in nature, deep
pink in its plastic
basket -- I have
killed my gift, exposed
flowers in a mass of leaves,
mistaking it
for part of nature with
its many stems: what
do I do with you now,
former living thing
that last night still
resembled my friend, abundant
leaves like her fluffy hair
although the leaves had
a reddish cast: I can see her
climbing the stone steps in spring dusk
holding the quivering
present in her hands, with
Eric and Daphne following
close behind, each
bearing a towel of lettuce leaves:
so much, so much to celebrate
tonight, as though she were saying
here is the world, that should be
enough to make you happy.

--Louise Gluck (there's supposed to be an umlat over the "u," drat lack of formatting)

I spent today mostly outside as it was one of those weird very warm January days we sometimes get here in north Texas. I planted wildflower seeds; so many wildflower seeds that if there are no wildflowers this spring (and likely forever more on the property) I cannot fathom what went wrong. Outside, today, the world was enough to make me happy. To make me forget the big and small betrayals and losses as of late--the world (and specifically my backyard) was enough. I forget, but it almost always is enough. I'm dreaming of our summer garden, the hammock, the flowers and vines; I'm seeing it as it will be and I'm ready for warmer days.

So much more going on in the poem, but I'd like to marinate on it for a while. So, just enjoy.