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.
It has been an exceptional year for arrowleaf balsamroot blooms this year. The hills across the valley from us are a haze of yellow. All the photographers I know have been nearly swooning over their abundance and beauty. So have I.My poem today honours them and my mother. It doesn't feel finished yet, but I've run out of time.
lesson in mortality
this spring
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| Photograph by Randy Rotheisler |
this spring
rivers of gold
tumble down the hills
and pool on high plains
a ceremonial display,
challenging the sun
my mother,
challenging the sun
my mother,
who taught us to find the sacred
in the natural world,
adored our local sunflowers
after a day of roaming the hills,
we children would bring her home a bouquet
but arrowleaf balsamroot blooms
do not take kindly to being harvested,
and start to wither
as soon as they are picked
no matter what you do,
after a day of roaming the hills,
we children would bring her home a bouquet
but arrowleaf balsamroot blooms
do not take kindly to being harvested,
and start to wither
as soon as they are picked
no matter what you do,
by the next day,
they are gone