Nature Done Wright

For you, it is a field of weeds, and punks and flittering birds.
I see lettuce, celery and zucchini squash,
Straight rows of black dirt, stacked sash frames
Glittering in the sun.

For you, it is a path to a quaint old tractor
    And the Butterfly Garden.
I walk the path to Baba's barn,
Where bushels of tomatoes are sorted for market
    And Bessy the cow waits to be milked;

For you, cherry trees bloom in the spring and Foxes Run.
I see the path to Baba's house, uphill,
Past the barns and the greenhouse.

For you, it is a path crossing a brook,
    Blocked in by trees and high rushes.
I walk with a child's stride, the long path to Zabriskie's stream,
Where horses run in an open field.

For you, there is a path by a flowing stream,
    Tunneled by branches overhead.
I hear my mother’s memories of the celery packing plant,
    A large operation, bigger than the Bajor farm across the way,
    But they often worked together on the really large orders.
Sometimes I see square ponds glistening with little golden fish;
    A few escape and grow in to legends.

For you, and the geese, it is a wide stretch of open water,
    Viewing platforms, swans' nest, heron's feast.               
I tie my skates and hide my shoes in a secret place by the pump house,
    Weave through narrow ditches to reach the Big Ditch,
Where goldfish swim beneath clear black ice and
The ice cracks look a foot deep.
Winter's pond is where the big boys play hockey.

For you, there is a dark space and a punk filled mini swamp.
I see a still flowing stream, with fish and frogs,
A safe place to learn to skate.

For you, there is barking dog corner, a bend in the path.
I hear all the dogs of my childhood, and Mr. Jigs, a black and white
    Scamp who would visit for a scratch and a snack,
    But never stay with anyone.
He died from eating poison bait; it is his ghost you hear barking.

Bulrush sways
In a still June day
Red-winged blackbird come,
And gone.

My path begins and ends at the Bajor Bench…

                               Cherish the Land.

copyright 2008 by Patricia L. Cooper, reprinted with permission