After months of drought, we’ve recently had an onslaught of rain. One of the most miraculous plants in the South is resurrection fern. It has a symbiotic relationship with live oaks. When the air is dry and no rain falls, it’s hardly noticeable, brown and dead looking. However, when we have days and days of humidity and rain, rain, rain, the fern pops up with its bright green fronds covering the branches and living in beauty. It seems to say, “Ah, yes!”
I took this photo of our grandmother oak near the bayou. She is 250+ years old. Her arms drape wide and hold a rope swing that many a child (and adult) have ridden on. She is featured on a live oak tree bike tour that our friend Jim leads every spring.
She’s also made mention of in many of my poems. I never tire of taking her photo or writing about her.
Turning to a random page in “Dictionary for a Better World” by Irene Latham and Charles Waters, I chose a cinquain form. (2, 4, 6, 8, 2)
Sometimes
bravery looks
like fern on an old oak
coming to life only after
hard rain.
Margaret Simon, draft
Please write a small poem today and leave it in the comments. Respond to others with kind encouragement.
Reflections on the Teche 
This whole post is glorious, Margaret. Though my climate is much different from yours, we have also been in drought and grateful for recent rains.
Ah, yes,
cries the live oak
when ferns awake and drape
green leaves o’er the tree in a hug,
Ah, yes!
-Jane Heitman Healy, draft
Ah, yes, I see your poem and Margaret’s prose in a beautiful symbiosis here. And that fern giving the tree a hug is lovely.
Grandmother Oak
beckons all who are near–
“Come to the peace.”
_______
Margaret, like Jane said, this whole post is so beautiful and gives me such peace. Thank you for sharing the photo and your cinquain. She and the resurrection fern are both brave, it seems.