a photograph by Alazanto, Kevin Davis, our son
November 18, 2007
Tag Archives: nature
Orion
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
In the early morning
Orion is already setting
In the western sky.
I follow it,
getting closer
to the spring equinox,
pointing north past
the north star.
The north,
where spring first appears
in bunches of wild leeks,
the first green in the forest,
dug up by deer
for their delectable bulbs.
Then a carpet of
spring beauties and anemones follow,
flooding the forest floor.
It was there
where you laid your head
in a bed of wild flowers.
The fiddle-head ferns
were just unwinding
and in a month
would reach our shoulders.
It was there,
where you wore
bells on your hips
so as not to surprise
the black bear with cubs
and the gray timber wolf
on his trek across the land.
Now Orion sets in the southwest,
pointing toward spring.
I will plant corn this year,
perhaps on the western side
of the garden.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Soliloquy
By Ethel Mortenson Davis
I have been a soliloquy
upon the landscape–
A letter on the horizon’s poem.
I have been accustomed
to aloneness.
We travel well
together.
She has been with me
when I searched
the deep forest
as a child
and
now in the desert,
allowing me to be
who I am,
learning from the sacred earth—
the poetic ground.
She has made me
resilient
like the coral desert blossom
I picked yesterday
and found in my pocket
today,
still fresh, still alive,
still vibrant,
drawing from the deep water
held tightly
within.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Patch of Life
a photograph by Alazanto, Kevin Davis, our son
Note: This was taken on the day that Ethel wrote about in the poem, “Train Ride,” below.
Filed under Art, Photography
Branches and Sky, a Song
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
Memories
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I will take the key
that unlocks you
and peer inside
to see yards and yards
of colorful fabric
on assorted bolts,
some material so thin
air and light comes through,
some so soft and thick
it feels like gray wool
from the long haired mountain sheep.
There I find a memory
from a northern forest
when snow filled up the floor,
and wind blew so strong
we looked for shelter
and found a circle of white cedar
whose branches hung down like loving arms.
Inside the circle
snowflakes were suspended in mid-air
as if in a crystalline hour glass.
And then there was the memory
of the sweetest summer night
in the high desert
when cool breezes played with us
to the tune of dancing hummingbirds
chatting to each other
as the fullest moon came up over the hills:
Two braided ribbons I’ll place around my neck
and wear forever.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Broken Wings
an abstract pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
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