Of Picnics, Poetry, and Joyful Resilience

Anne of Green Gables is (and always will be) my favorite of Montgomery’s works, but the second in the series (Anne of Avonlea) is also close to my heart. One passage in particular has stayed with me over the years, and pops into my head from time to time. It is from Chapter 13, when Anne celebrates her birthday with “A Golden Picnic.” She and her friends spend the afternoon “rambling in the woods and fields” before settling down to enjoy jelly tarts, lady fingers, sandwiches, and lemonade. It is about then that Anne exclaims, “Look, do you see that poem?”

“There . . . down in the brook . . . that old green, mossy log with the water flowing over it in those smooth ripples that look as if they’d been combed, and that single shaft of sunshine falling right athwart it, far down into the pool. Oh, it’s the most beautiful poem I ever saw.”

“I should rather call it a picture,” said Jane. “A poem is lines and verses.”

“Oh dear me, no.” Anne shook her head with its fluffy wild cherry coronal positively. “The lines and verses are only the outward garments of the poem and are no more really it than your ruffles and flounces are you, Jane. The real poem is the soul within them . . . and that beautiful bit is the soul of an unwritten poem. . .”

I wholeheartedly agree with Anne — not simply because it is a pretty idea, but because it rings true to my experience. The soul of one poem in particular has been keeping me company for months now. I’ve felt its cheerful presence every time I walk up the street, but it wasn’t until recently that it declared itself ready to be embodied in lines and verses.

Here it is! May it give you courage.

❦

Resilience

Lord, make me like the bits of green
that grow up from the concrete cracks,
that push their way up in-between
the massive, overbearing slabs.

Lord, make me like the stalks that dare
to raise their heads above a spot
where all is hard and flat and square,
courageously remaining soft.

Lord, make me like a plant that thrives
amid a world of sidewalk-grey:
a tiny thing that’s still alive
and spites the sameness with its joy.

P.S.
If you are in the mood for more poetry and liked the Anne Shirley quote above, I highly recommend “Poems Unwritten” by Daniel Leach. And if, like me, you find yourself cheered by weeds as you walk up the street, you might enjoy this breathtaking poem by Tyler Rogness.