A photograph by Sonja Bingen after her walk with her mother and father in Potawatomi State Park a mile from our house in Sturgeon Bay, the place where Ethel and I walk with our dogs, Juno and Pax, every morning even in January and February.
Tag Archives: walk
Day
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I shouldn’t have
come up over the bluff,
because that’s when
I saw the great expanse
of sky and clouds.
This morning, on my walk,
the face of the red mesa
looked cold,
and then
these extraordinary
fall clouds
beckoned me
to come up into them–
yes, taken up into
the sky.
But in a moment
my eye caught sight
of a coyote
padding along
the valley floor
almost the color
of the dirt and brush
around him,
bringing me back
to reality and hardness.
Stay hidden, coyote,
and step away
from man–
because where he steps
death is all around.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Tables
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
On my walk
this morning
I reached down to pick
a sacred-colored blossom,
but hummingbird flew out!
I’ll leave this table
for you.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
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