JUDI'S ARTSY ESSAY ENTRY

These are two impressionist prose poems, both about wild-flower season in the state of Texas. The first actual place is the backyard of a house I used to own. It is still alive and real in my memory/imagination, I go visit it sometimes in my mind when I need a hit of the magic that lived there. The second piece is a weekend in a place that continues to exist in reality, and can be visited with only a small amount of effort – the Hill Country of Texas. I was born there, and my ashes will be scattered there, and my heart returns there often. Here is the link to Judi's entry with topic and rules for the essay

Trees in full leaf now, still tendergreen
but thick and soft, providing
shelter, casting shade.
The wild red climbing roses on
porch and fence have run amok,
rioting in blossoms –
the house is full of them,
roses in every room.

In the backyard weed and honeysuckle
jungle of green, the goldfinches
fill the air with darts of light.
The tree with the feeders is full of them
arriving departing eating jostling,
and the small trees by the waterpan
are a way station for the feeder.
All the morning air is zipped through
with their constant zigging, zagging.

I guess the cardinals have finished
nest building back in the honeysuckle,
I don’t see them anymore
flashing in and out
with grass and twigs.
Perhaps now they are settled in on eggs.
I hope they will be safe from all the cats
marauding through the yard.

April in Texas is the Holy Time,
the High Holy Days of Spring.
An almost unbearable physical beauty,
miracles everywhere,
surrounding us – even here in these mean streets.
In our little slum there are irises and roses,
yards full of wild primrose carpets,
birds busy on life-errands,
nestbuilding and migration.
This is the time of miracle and wonder,
time to be a creature alive in green and leaf.

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This past weekend a pilgrimageto the hills,
the rocks and flowers.
A short trip Home to the HIll Country.
Two days by the Medina River,
strange grey foggy days of wind and drizzle.
This place is my heart’s home, it is my cradle,
it was my beginning, it will be my end.
We had a simple time, two long country walks,
one along the river, then up a bluff exploring
an abandoned ruin: sprawling compound
of fieldstone walls, Mexican tilework, small outbuildings,
and what was clearly once a garden.

Next day we hiked the Hill Country Natural Area,
a park kept primitive, untouched. Through hills,
washes, cedars, liveoak trees,
cold clean-smelling wind blowing hard around us.
Wildlife roams these bluffs and woods (rangers say
even a wildcat), but we saw only rabbits, whitetailed deer.

Sunday evening we took a wildflower drive from Castroville,
into enchantment, wonder, miracles.
Primroses  pink white and yellow
Poppies  white and every shade of pink through burgundy,
so tall and loose and dainty,
wild abandonment to beauty.
Blooming by small forgotten roads
through fields and farms
gardens of the Goddess,
pleasure for the hawks and deer.
Wild phlox and bluebonnets, paintbrushes,
winecup and yellowwave,
flowers whose names I do not know.
Around every curve of road a burst of color,
a carpet endlessly changing,
weaving through the fences, cactus,
cows, ramshackle barns.
Blooming just because they are,
blooming for joy for beauty for the glory of the sun,
the rain, the soil, the shining of their faces,
the miracle of life and color: Spring.

January 31 - I'm overjoyed to announce that this entry won the contest for this month.  I'm proud as can be to have this award to  display.