Saturday, August 14, 2010

the map is not the thing named


shadowy waves
wash across
the seabound fields

they dance in unison -
a million golden feathers
each telling the story
of the passage of the wind

posted by steven at 12:07 AM

12 comments:

Jinksy said...

Pause For Thought


There is a wonderment in being.
So many people are too intent
on solving everyday problems,
never seeing beauty. They are content
with increasing material success
and see no riches in simple pleasures.
Wind ripples on water;
wind waves in grass or treetops
are sights which in no way impress them
as would man made treasures.
Unheeding, always too busy to pause,
they pass by wealth of a kind far greater
than any for which they strive.
Diamond collarettes that spiders weave
in morning hedgerows
they do not see. Later in the day,
those same bushes,
alive with drone of insects
or hum of bees, leave no doubt
as to their value in Nature’s complex plan
whose riches are intrinsic and eternal,
though unrecognised by unobservant Man.

August 14, 2010 at 4:42 AM
Friko said...

"each telling the story of the passage of wind"

I had never seen it like that before.

August 14, 2010 at 6:33 AM
Elisabeth said...

So we map the passage of the wind in each blade of grass. Wonderful, Steven.

August 14, 2010 at 7:30 AM
steven said...

jinksy - i'm wondering if this uncredited poem is from your brilliant pen?! thankyou regardless. it's exactly where i head with this blog as often as possible. i wish for people to see the riches around us in their simple detail and then also to enjoy their time here more fully having done so. thankyou so much! steven

August 14, 2010 at 8:13 AM
steven said...

friko in that way they're like people experiencing life. watch the winds of change, the waves of experience cross over people. just like each little blade of wild grass. steven

August 14, 2010 at 8:14 AM
steven said...

elisabeth - yes we can see the whole of the passage of the wind in the whole of a field but each blade tells its own story of the passing. much like people. steven

August 14, 2010 at 8:15 AM
hope said...

When I was a kid, wheat fields use to make me think of an ocean...certainly explained that patriotic verse in America the Beautiful: "Golden waves of grain."

Living in the country [when the right farmer is farming] we're surrounded on 3 sides by wheat and when the wind blows, it is like being surrounded by an ocean of gold.

Thanks for the beautiful shot! {Because the "wrong" farmer planted this year and all he's growing is weeds!}

August 14, 2010 at 8:41 AM
CiCi said...

Acres and acres of golden fields.

August 14, 2010 at 9:48 AM
ellen abbott said...

wonderful. we don't get wheat fields down here...corn, cotton, rice. the wheat is lovely.

August 14, 2010 at 11:17 AM
Helen said...

Your poem is full of mystic and mythic imagery .........

August 14, 2010 at 1:37 PM
Cheryl Cato said...

The wheat is very feathery indeed. I can imagine the tops of the plants moving like ocean swells. I would like to see large fields like this.

August 14, 2010 at 9:37 PM
Tess Kincaid said...

I can hear the soft rustling.

August 14, 2010 at 11:17 PM

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