Driving through the rough-hewn gate
past the carved wooden sign
and down the gravel lane,
I found the broad russet hay field
lifted into autumn maple
or perhaps rising up
to greet me like an old friend.
Every tree and trembling fern
a voice in the slanted sunlight,
the rubbed bronze earth
reaching out with a song.
On November 19, 2010
8 Responses to “Creation Song”
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Lovely poem, Don. I’m living now back in Santa Barbara now and your words of Autumn were especially meaningful where there is no Fall. So, thanks for sending.
I hear you, Brother. Thank you for speaking so…
I see Still Meadow!
Thanks for bringing Her into Consciousness.
Beautiful imagery–great draft, but a big dangling modifier issue. Think through your verbs: the hay field wasn’t doing the driving as the sentence implies. Here’s a go:
I drove through the rough hewn gate,
past the carved wooden sign
and down the gravel lane.
There the broad russet hay field
lifted into autumn maple,
or perhaps the land was rising up
to greet me like an old friend–
every tree and trembling fern
a voice in the slanted sunlight;
the rubbed bronze earth
reaching out with a song.
Just one approach to clarify the lovely action of the poem.
Thanks Sandy. As always your editor’s eye is laser like and very welcome. I made a few modifications in the direction you suggested.
This one is a treasure. Your love affair with the earth is endearing and kindred. Thanks so much.
the Earth Mother is well known to open hearts for her contrasts. A Blackfeet connection told me today it is -17F up there, just under Glacier Natl. Park. No doubt all Aspen leaf there are hugging her ground, having long since fallen.
thank you, Don, for all that your lines arouse.
Years ago, while living in New Hampshire, a precious, elderly woman introduced me to Alpenglow, that moment when the sunlight, the trees, and the earth come together in a heart opening song.
Thanks for reminding me.