the meadowfoam and saxifrage remember
and pay homage to the earth and sky.
Always look forward, a span of time, an eon of time,
where each spring, they remind the sun of its color
and the precious vernal pools where individuality
and ecosystems evolved to leave them
lone sentinels of their species.
They coexist in the fields where grape vines
hold gnarled arms up to the sky in supplication—
or is it jubilation or communion?
Whispering Et cum spíritu tuo /and also with you.
The roots dig deep among the smooth stones,
an ancient riverbed that softened its course with time,
geology and the tilt of land, climatic change. Terrior.
They send roots down deep into the ancient aquifer,
tainted with boron and mineral salts.
The blackbird drilling to a new warlord, the grape.
From the volcanic flush of the earth's core,
plumes of sulfurous steam gush on Geyser Ridge
were they funnel upward into fog and mist.
Truly a miracle, they turn alkali water into sweet wine
and vineyards define each bucolic curve and cheek of land
with geometric precision: we see the land with new eyes.
Come harvest season, we will raise a glass of wine
to the sky—whether chardonnay, merlot, or meritage
on a slender porch, and note the mercurial green and red hints
as if the grapes had robbed pigment from the flowers in bloom.
no date 2007?
March 2004?
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