As stars wink conspiratorially, I wonder once again
what my purpose is in this realm if not to love and be
loved, which we are and always will be by the very fact
that we draw breath, and yet those I have loved the most
are on their own trajectories, nothing on earth is permanent,
still knowing and feeling are two different entities, bodies
of understanding, and my nature lends itself to the kinesthetic
first, and so I create landscapes, beauty that returns tender
caring with its own bold expressions of radical joy;

Magic opens up on the path outside, some days
it is the midnight blue lobelia, recently potted spikes
increasing by the day that, when culled back, simply
multiply radiance exponentially; at other times
it is the dappled light streaming through the redwood-
stained lattice, support for the newly planted honeysuckle
vine now gracing the house entry set off by flagstone
winding through raised garden beds, offering not only
beauty and texture, but a surface upon which to cool
one's core on a hot summer day while sitting
under the shaded portico;

I did not easily bond to this high desert mountain at first,
coming from fifteen years in a subtropical environment,
strange transition from dazzling variegated colors
that smacked the senses sideways without pause,
a confrontational demand to be acknowledged,
appreciated, with the sparkling turquoise Pacific
never far out of sight, roadsides burgeoning with magenta,
crimson, vermillion, blush, saffron and gold, even whites
compelling in their fragrance, jasmine and gardenia,
tuberose and magnolia, plumeria proffering her subtle
waxy blossoms in heady delicate hues, and how could one
fail to feel infinitely caressed in their presence?

Yet we were invited back to stark winter landscapes
to hone, for all I know, a focus on subtleties once again,
waiting by the wood stove for tender spring cottonwood
leaves to unfurl in subdued shades of yellow green, willing
the first flush of delicate violet wildflowers to spring forth
from sandy soil and when they do, it takes the breath away,
focuses vision on minutiae, one does not have to pull back
from overwhelm, but rather involve oneself in intimate rapport
with what otherwise gets trampled underfoot;

Now I begin to appreciate seasonal changes once again,
learning from the land what patience I lack, am rewarded
when tulips and lilies pop variegated colors and rosebuds begin
to swell as giant cumulus amass in the heavens, hail pounds
to the ground out of nowhere, and giant lightning bolts descend
from rumbling skies as if thrown from the hand of Zeus himself,
no, I cannot say at this point that I prefer one landscape
over the other, do not long for what has passed, and stand
in gratitude for all the beauty I have witnessed while embracing
the absurdity of a long and freewheeling life that has yet
to reveal more surprises.

Top: columbine, bottom: Redtail Hawk observes from his perch above the world ~ bj 6/23