Maidenhair

A poem

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Maidenhair

Photo by note thanun

Garden walks #4

Twin doors open to cool fall air
and the maidenhair stands 
framed between seasons.
Time is not the enemy, she declares
as I approach her towering throne 
and read the canyons in her trunk.

Age is timeless.
Her hundreds of years of history
reach through the ages,
every hour of lime confetti
born just this year among the sky.

To travel through time
and follow a path where
fleeting fifty-year colors
paint for an eyeblink,
is to know beauty is food
for the wise.

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White egret
white reflection
of white knowing
on this black
surface of we.

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The timeless is
the sap seeping through
the spring in my step this day,
thousands of leaves,
thousands of winters
and I can walk,
maiden, oh maiden, 
let down your golden hair
and I will dance
beneath your celebration
of all you give
to the compost
of me.

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Thank you for reading! What strikes you, speaks to you, or stirs in you while you read this piece? I look forward to the dialogue, and as always, I will be following up with a Reflection essay on how this poem and the idea of Garden walks emerged into being.

Brian

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