Eucalyptus Standing

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.

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The bee came at me and then buzzed away.

I stand here:

belladonna plants

tall dried mustard, purple flower kind,

the ground is sandy,

the log imposes

pale and catches attention

pulling me in to investigate.

Walking….

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.

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