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On the Mohawk Trail, that stretch of Route 2 from Greenfield to North Adams, someone’s secret work emerges in (Just-?) spring. This past May, a few daffodils appeared on the roadside in a secluded but sunny slope on the south facing hill above Shelburne Falls. Soon, another bunch appeared a bit further down the road. And then a spray on the other side of the road. Within a week or two, daffodils, narcissus and jonquils lined the highway from Greenfield all the way to the entrance to the state forest just past the Zoar River.
It had to begin with the secret planting of those daffodils, though. Perhaps years ago, cabal of women armed with trowels and abundent trust in mother nature began the task. You're right, and I suspect, too, one person—a lone green thumb who might have had the trait ascribed to Aquarians, the ability to take the long view.
At some point, homeowners joined in and added more along their frontages. The bulbs divided over the years, and now it’s magic. I’d love to know more about this secret gardener, The Empress, an Antheian whose legacy is hope, springing.
I imagine ghostly hands in the pre-dawn mist, opening that perfect deepness for the living bulb and smoothing the dark loam not like a burial but like a blanket.
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