I'm joining Beverly A Baird & Linda Schueler in a "year long poetry practice – on the first Friday of each Month," when we, and anyone else who joins, writes a poem and pairs it up with a photo relating to it.
Our grandkids visited a few weeks ago. After a couple of days of rain, we decided to go hiking in the hills. Our four year old was as infatuated by the smell of sage as I was, and collected pocketfuls of it. She called it her perfume.
I started this poem a week or so ago before I headed off visiting friends and family on Vancouver Island. I worked on it off and on, but couldn't get it to come together. My brother, James Weichel, helped me see what I needed. I'm not sure I'm really satisfied, but I've run out of time!
after the deluge,
we hike the old reed creek trail
passing a copse of trembling aspen,
we come to a meadow
where stoic, lonesome,
lodgepole pines
reign across millennia
breathing deeply
we embrace the fragrance
of silver grey sage
still giddy from
last night’s downpour
her sweet perfume
extends our senses
expands awareness
enough for us
to become,
however briefly,
one with all of creation
singing praise
to the goddess of rain
later on
we trek home
healed and whole,
hearts lifting
along with
the last bits of mist
rising from green hilltops
however briefly,
one with all of creation
singing praise
to the goddess of rain
later on
we trek home
healed and whole,
hearts lifting
along with
the last bits of mist
rising from green hilltops
Love it! I love sage, but I have never experienced it in the wild. Thanks for letting me see your corner of the world through your eyes.
ReplyDeleteWhat a visual poem. I could imagine being there, seeing the beauty and smelling the sage.Thanks for joining us.
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