Sun flowers and fire

The Gironde is still burning, pine forests full of wildlife destroyed. But according to the news reports, there have been no victims.

We walked around the place today across the stream. Sunflowers fill the small field behind the poplars and the alders.

Turning east into the sun, climbing into the gentle hills, more sunflowers spread north and north and north.

We turn back, still early morning , but already too hot, walk west, thinking of the wild fires raging, and the massacre in the inferno of tinderbox pine forests.

The sun was once
a mother and father
we watched it rise and set
in awe wonder and fear.
Now all that is left is fear.


Rain and sunflowers

Rain and sunflowers

In all the fields that stretch about,
sunflowers raise their heads and shout,
The summer’s called us, look, we’re here!

The light that quivers on the pelt
of running dogs, the morning felt,
the gaze of distant watching deer.

In all the skies above, beyond,
the light is blue with feathers donned,
a silent heron on the mere.

And I awake to hear the rain,
rattling on the window pane,
and know this earth so rich, so near.

Sun flowers

The wind was from the east this morning, and though the sunflowers aren’t in flower yet (of course) the meadow is full of muscari. Spring is here, for us anyway.

Sun flowers

Though the wind
is from the east and chill
still the green is glazed
with indigo
drops of midnight sky
humble hyacinths
grape-bunched tight
against the cold.

Though the wind
from the east
brings the smell of burning
and the clamour
as it blows the world apart
still the grass grows green
beneath the sun
colour of sunflowers.