The jacks-in-the-pulpit are up in the wildflower garden.  They aren't colorful, just a green that blends in to the rest of the plants back there, but I love those guys anyhow.  They face in all directions as they give their spring sermons.  Sometimes they seem to be preaching to each other. 

I wonder if in the middle of the night, they find their voices and begin theological arguments.  Are they all the same denomination?  Do they tell the rest of the plants to shape up?  Do they threaten weeds with eternal damnation?  

By fall they will have given off their sermonizing and will produce bright red but inedible berries.  

But that is far off.  Summer is yet to arrive.