Photo: Scott Presly
Sunshine and raindrops,
Wet feet stop before constellations of white Queen Ann’s lace.
Pink clover sparkles with diamonds.
Moving through wet grass,
Taste purple blackberries, juice embracing seeds,
And feel the rain like tears,
While nearby crickets chirp.
Moving to the small, moist garden,
Where flaming red gladiolas compete with corn for attention,
But begin to bend before the breeze and gentle rain.
The corn stalks remain sturdy, tassels like crowns or like the helmets of samurai,
Leaves like strong arms,
And the invisible golden kernels like fat sheathed swords at the hips.
The corn is backed by tomatoes and flanked by pale green cabbage lotuses.
Beyond, the apple tree beckons
With smooth ripe fruit for the birds
And for anyone else who will pick and taste the firm flesh just beneath the tight skin.
Just now, a red-green apple falls by itself,
Startling a robin in the grass, which flies away.
Sitting beside gold and maroon marigolds,
Feel the breeze and buzz of insects.
The rain has stopped now
And an ant is crawling across my foot.
Lifting the gaze, I see the birch trees shudder and glisten like water in the wind.
Photo: Carol Pyles
Even the driveway pebbles glisten while crunching under foot.
Laughter echoes throughout the dining tent.
The flags and prayer flags flap and whip in the wind.
Above the blue outhouses,
See the mountains, the strip of blue Northumberland Strait, and the vast sky
In which swallows dart and glide, dart and glide.
Their golden breastplates flash in the afternoon sun,
And seem to announce someone’s arrival on pure white cumulus clouds.
This is the king’s view indeed.
Now the conch blows faithfully three times.
Smell the burning juniper and feel the lhasang smoke on the face.
Hear the clatter of hooves on the boardwalk,
As gentle warriors proceed toward the pavilion palace.