…You come, dreaming of ferns and flowers

and new leaves unfolding

upon the brash turnip-hearted skunk cabbage…

…Your kneel beside it. The smell

is lurid and flows in the most

unabashed way…

…but these are the woods you love,

where the secret name

of every death is life again – a miracle…

…What blazes the trail is not necessarily pretty.

Mary Oliver, Skunk Cabbage