I know this is CRAZY, but I'm going to try to post something new each day of this inaugural week of blogging. So here's one of my photographs and a poem to go with it.

~ Winter Grasses

The daffodils have gone the way of the crocus

and soon will come the wild, wiry redbuds

like beautiful tomboys who won’t let their hair be combed,

along with the lilacs, bobbing passively in the wind,

and the frilly, honest faces of the apple blossoms,

ever cheerful despite the overcrowding.

So it must be today that I tell you

about the curly tendrils of paper-thin grass,

as though someone took the edge of a scissor

to a field of yellow ribbon . . .

about the silvery sound of the wind moving through

fast and light like shallow water over pebbles . . .

about patches of grass like a red mane shaken by a powerful lion

and the pale coat of the lioness over the muscle of the land . . .

about the long, ash-blonde lashes rimming the eye of a pond

and spicy meadows of nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, cloves.

I see those forgotten fields succumbing to the green
and I tell myself, if I could lie fallow for a season,

I, too, might come alive as a tender new version of myself.