A walker hoping to get lost in the mountains stumbles on a thick colony of mayapples and stops dead. The speaker knows the plant's folklore: roots shaped like people, and a medicine drawn from them against cancer. Looking at the crowded plants, he starts thinking about courage. We praise quiet kindness, he says, but have we forgotten the grand gesture? He compares himself to the line of tanks at the Gate of Heavenly Peace, halted because he can't move without crushing a few plants. The comparison also casts the mayapples as the vulnerable ones, standing in the way.
The tone then turns more sober. The plants' bright parasols look brave, but their faces are turned down, and their chances are slim. Fruit, pollination and visiting insects are all uncertain, and the plants seem to survive only because a few bees wander off course and forget where they are. The mood is hushed and wondering, with a quiet admiration for survival that depends on chance.