Archive
08/16/09 - (1)
Cattails
Forty-mile-per-hour gusts Are creating tumultuous waves, on the glistening lake, Thrusting them, aslant, toward the besieged shore.
From the end of this ruggedly buffeted dock, Looking back up, at my cabin, I watch the vast stand of lush-green, flower-spiked cattails
Bend, against this irrepressible force of nature, Like cornstalks and milo in a violent prairie storm. I'm amazed by how pliant their viridescent stems are,
Many of them seven, eight feet tall (Not counting the foot or so that's underwater). The four volunteer willows, growing in their midst,
Take a brutal lashing, too, As do the three-foot-high yellow-blossoming yarrow plants, Creeping up to their margins, from the sandy land.
There's something ominous about these bulrushes That causes my imagination apprehension. They seem almost invasive, poised to take over the shore.
Now, I'm thinking that I'd be quite happy, Were this wind to continue until it flattens these cattails, Lets the lake reclaim what they've rapaciosuly seized.
08/16/09 - (1)
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