In the Midst of Weeds

Today, their wind-borne dance pulls me to remember...

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

In the Midst of Weeds

Out my bedroom window I see
three-foot waves of grass.
These errant blades from shoveled
horse dung infest my yard.
I’ve despised these clumps
that menace native rabbit brush
or choke the manzanita. But
each spring I wrench up roots
that break the hardpan,
and find tiny flowers sheltered
in their shade. Granite grinds to loam
a foot deep where I have cleared
and yarrow fills the space. What once
was rock now nurtures lupine spears.

Today, their wind-borne dance pulls me
to remember when a simple dusty path
through vacant lots or strips of sage
left behind by dozer's plow
forged fantasies of forest trails
or pioneer travails through hip-high seas
of gold across virgin plains.
An urban child escaped her changing world,
confused and frightened by the noise,
pretending to be wild amidst the weeds.

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You can read more from Sue Cauhape on her page, “Ring Around the Basin”:

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