As I sit here sneezing and coughing--hopefully from allergies and not the swine flu--I am reading Snyder's poem "The Dazzle." The first half of the poem is very appropriate for the season as my blue car looks green under a film of pollen:
the dazzle, the seduction the
design
intoxicated and quivering,
bees? is it flowers? why does this
seed move around.
the one
divides itself, divides, and divides again.
"we all know where that leads"
blinding storms of gold pollen (65).
It is quite amazing how life always finds a way every spring after the dead of winter. Sometimes overnight trees and the ground go from being barren to sprouting leaves and flowers. As beautiful as the return of life is, it becomes hard to enjoy for those of us with allergies. As I watch the pollen float through the air I know that the earth's natural beauty is being spread, but does it have to provoke my lungs so much?
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