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Last Long Blue
1–2 minutesThe sky holds on to blue long after sunset, condensed from day soaking into night, a blue like the blush on elderberries, like water as a cloud passes, calm, over a stream. I want to reach out and hold on to it, wrap it around me, jump into it, this, the last long blue of
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Poplar
1–2 minutesI look out the window at the poplar, leaves hanging, ancient, like a willow. It blows in the wind like sea grass, liquid, slow-motion, great sweeps that rest, dangling, between winds. Behind the poplar, the sky darkens, a muted gray-purple, holding both sunset and rain, the color of river rocks.
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Spring
1–2 minutesIt is the time of new green,of samaras jutting rose-pink from pale, fringed flowers;it is the time of milky elderflowersand soft-leaved thimbleberry;it is the time of salmonberry crowns,hairy and ready to bud;it is the time of the robin’s nest beneath the porch,and the chink of hummingbirds brushing past cedars;it is the time of unfurling.
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Visitor
1–2 minutesYou walk past the salmonberries, the newly unfurling maidenhair fern; the false-lily-of-the-valley tucked darkly beneath the Indian plum. You talk over the robin’s song, and step through the bunches of wood sorrel, flattening their stems as you walk. You don’t get excited over a coltsfoot flower rising long-stalked above the understory. You don’t stop with
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