Raining Tree Road

"Even a child with normal feet was in love with the world after he had got a new pair of shoes."
— Flannery O'Connor (Everything That Rises Must Converge)

This past weekend we stayed at a neighbor’s cabin.

It was pure bliss to be out of range of motors and cell phones, breaking news and well intentioned calls. We did not have internet service; I apologize for not visiting. I have read everyone’s poems upon returning and enjoyed them immensely.

There was a crystal clear lake with a pair of resident loons, diving, cavorting, rearing, flapping, walking on water. Their eerie wails and wild tremolos awakened something wild in us. Ruby throated hummingbirds perched on the rims of deep bowls, bulking up for September flight. Capricious skies, a special reserve bottle of wine, Flannery O’Conner and Verlyn Klinenborg, Beethoven’s middle quartets (we always travel with music). We were in good company.

A profusion of images emerged, all clamoring to be seen.

Raining Tree Road

It rained hard
while we slept
in soft beds

soft we sink
into mud and moss
a continuous
mist
surrounds us

coral mushrooms blossom
on crumbing bark
the blackened leaf
curls into itself
like a fist
tender tendrils
pulse
with life
insisting on itself

this is not our world
of gardens
with planned
successions of blooms
the polite clatter of heels
post modern
masterpieces hanging
in dimly lit rooms

overnight
it rained
hard
as we slept
on our soft beds

and when we awoke
nothing was the
same.


Written for OSI, pensive.