Posted on June 22, 2020
by Elan Mudrow
The boy picks Wapato in the marsh
Just the top stems, not the tubers.
He doesn’t see me standing
In the mud, watching.
I follow him with quiet eyes
Walk through the marsh.
As if he’s searching for a vase.
There’s a humid wind
Ruffling all plants around us
Including the ones in his hand.
Near us are shy egrets
With their long necks, poking
Among a dried-out lake bed.
They’re not overly timid.
They’ve seen us, hear us
Have no concern
Over flowers or watchers.
As I move, the mud is loud
Echoing off trees, off the sky.
Off of all the moments we are taking.
He disappears behind a cottonwood
And the play of clouds and sun.
My pant legs are caked with soil.
The egrets stick to their search
Of the wet marshland grass.
A small patter of rain hits leaves, branches.
We change again.
Category: UncategorizedTags: Art, Author, Birds, Blog, Books, Life, Love, Nature, Photography, Poem, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing
Nicely captured 👌
This is so incredibly beautiful ♡
Well done. I’m impressed.
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I love the image of the boy searching for a vase. Your poetry makes nature come alive.
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Yes Joan. Thanks!
That sounds like fun. I remember the forts we made with card tables and blankets.
Thank you Sonya!
Thanks so much!!
Lots to love here, Elan. How you can hide from the boy, but not the egrets, who are aware of everything. How loud mud is when you are trying to be quiet. And “a small patter of rain hitting leaves, branches” is a sound I adore, trees issuing a split-second warning that I’m about to get drenched. The last line is both haunting and comforting. 🙂
This is such a great shot and poem. Reminds me of when we used to climb the pines with boards and nails, to see how high we could build our tree house.
I love the wetlands.
Lush wet absorption… me absorbing the place, the place absorbing me…
I do just LOVE this moment captured so perfectly.
A stunning poem.
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