Flowers And Watchers

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.

 

 

 

 

12 Comments on “Flowers And Watchers

  1. 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. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  2. 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.

    Liked by 2 people

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