Tangled Eden

 

Mists and Tendrils

—Photo by Carol Eve Ford

 

MERCED: THE RIVER AND THE ROCK
—A Poem with Photos by Carol Eve Ford, Kenai, AK

I.   She rises early
in mists and tendrils
from the restless Pacific,
    pulls her cloak
    around her chin,
    lets it trail behind her
as she moves landward,
sweet, tousled.
She gathers
    in muffled community
    with her sisters,
    who drift together
through the tangled Eden
of the coastal ranges,
delighting in the cozy fires
    and woodsmoke
    their passing inspires.
    Catching a breath
of warm air,
she lets her robes
billow to the ground,
    spirals into bright blue heavens
    invisible,
    to look eastward over the golden ridges
of home,
the Great Valley
stretching inland.
    She recognizes him
    in the distance,
    tall,
rugged,
standing,
waiting.

 

 

 

Tsiak

 

 

II.  She gathers her skirts
in silver bunches
to pass over,
    but seeing the contours of his face,
    resplendent in winter’s twilight,
    her gentle heart
bursts with delight,
its wild beating
rumbling over ridges,
    echoing down canyons,
    showering him with laughter,
    until at last she falls
without reservation
into his embrace
adorned in a thousand veils of lace
    so fine
    they shimmer in
    infinite delicacy,
draping down and down.
Exquisite layers,
bright, elegant, diaphanous,
    blanket him in silence,
    stillness,
    purity.

 

 

 

Granite Fingers

 

III. When spring awakens her,
she braids her flowing rivulets
with wildflowers
    down through pebbled escarpment,
    tumbled moraine,
    his granite fingers
playing gently
through her falling tresses.
She dances
    in emerald satin,
    clear and deep,
    over polished expanses
of bedrock,
pirouettes
around boulders
    that rise, certain, grounded,
    warmed by sunshine,
    to ruffle her edges,
slow her dashing
into meditation,
rolling memory up and back and down
    in those deep solemn places
    where mystic rainbows lie,
    awaiting the feast.
He sweeps her down
spiral pathway,
granite tango
    to leap out into shatters
    of brilliance,
    scatters of diamonds.

 

 

 

Bridal Veil

 

IV.  The fall,
slow-motion,
becomes dance,
becomes prayer.
    Misting in wind,
    she baptizes
    vespers of silent mosses,
    caresses, blesses, cools
the solemn rock face.
The landing,
explodes in festive celebration
and bubbles,
    in the sweet craggy arms
    of Sierra substratum,
    deepening the fathomless basin
    with her impetuous plunging.
She feathers out and away
from the merry cataclysm
fanning her flushed cheeks,
catching her breath,
    exhaling effervescence.
    She laughs outright
    against the sandy edge
    in waves of wonder
at her own daring,
  at his
    audacious
       catch.

 

 

 

Mercy Overflowing

 

 

V.   Wandering hand-in-hand
through the Valley,
they nurture
fingerling brook trout,
grove after grove
of pine,
cedar,
redwood,
    play hide-and-seek with
    water ouzel, bear cub, mountain lion,
    tickle chuckling ferns,
    pause to levitate
    water striders,
    wave undulating grasses,
    murmur together
    beneath the dogwood blossoms,
reflect wonder,
catch bright bouquets of autumn leaves
by the armful.
Look closely. You can see them,
there in the swirling current
of eventide,
the river
and the rock,
    tossing handfuls
    of sparkling golden confetti
    in silent
    celebration
    of their union
    as they have done,
    and will do,
    forever.

 

 

 

Sacred Ground

 

______________________

 

Our thanks to Alaskan poet Carol Eve Ford for her epic poem and photos today! This poem (without the photos) was previously published in Song of the San Joaquin.

Canary Magazine’s Autumn Equinox issue is available now at canarylitmag.org/. Check it out!

____________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

Fall Heirloom Tomatoes

—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of

Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA

 

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

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