It’s been quiet here for a bit. Lots of work stuff, and life thrown us a difficult blow recently. But time to share a poem. This one came while I was writing prose about reenchantment. The eucalyptus tree, while originally from Australia, is a signature part of the California landscape. Some people would like to see them gone, saying they are fire traps. I’m rather fond of them myself.
The bee came at me and then buzzed away.
I stand here:
tall dried mustard, purple flower kind,
the ground is sandy,
the log imposes
pale and catches attention
pulling me in to investigate.
a low key compelling, behind is an altar shaped log
and alongside silvery green eucalyptus shoots—
they are growing out of one that was axed;
genetic clones they must be
but the big tree looms behind.
Sometimes it lurks in there
not quite taking a face.
Beyond the bison’s graze today. But one
framed in primordial horn
looks at me and
I look too.
I offer tobacco leaves, and flowers,
dried, from my indoor plants.
They make lovely lime green scenes,
haunting green stars press against the glass.
A trio of crows calls.
Dogs are being walked. Fox tails are
scratchy if you’re not careful.
Eucalyptus, long settled in,
reaches out to me in aromatic exhalations
entering my lungs. I inhale deeply.