Autumn in the Fields (of Eastern Washington)
Big sky country in the fall Where there are no leaves at all Like oceans – fields of ripened grain Ripple along the golden plain Clouds of every shape and size Layer themselves across the skies White, fluffy gray and flat Barely moving, like a stealthy cat Beyond the mist – beyond the haze Skies bluer than I’ve seen in days Acres of wheat dance all around Sagebrush crouches close to ground In the distance a deeper yellow Flattened fields of mown hay’s stubble Colors are subtle here in fall Not bright like autumn hues at all.
Sheila Ryan Wallace Oct. 22, 2010
Walking on the Wild Side
I wander past waist high meadows Ancient sheep barns Hay storage sheds On winding paths through Rain forests to old growth goliaths Holding court so close to the sky That colorful wildflowers beneath Are ant sized serfs
Layer by layer beauty unfolds Her secrets English hyacinth Bluer than the heavens Skunk cabbage up to my chest Its blooms larger than my hands Carpets of fiddle head fern Trinity-flowered trillium Mammoth mushrooms
I gaze in delight at seas of Irish moss Sweeping rivers of manicured grass Bridges of nursery logs Ribbons of crystal tumbling over rocks Spilling into still pools edged With colorful azaleas, wild currant Giant fern, bleeding heart Enormous rhododendrums
In this ancient world I am A forest sprite Faerie princess Nature girl A lost child Come alive on holy ground I have left the mundane far behind And becoming lost am found
Sheila Ryan Wallace April 26, 2010
Traffic Delay
We crawl past the hilled houses of Seattle past the one with the mural of a naked woman past four police cruisers… one with a radar gun pointed on us the other three poised for a chase. we pass Lake Union with its myriad houseboats sun sparkling off the water… aim for the distant snow capped mountain gleaming in the morning sun. we pick up speed and head out of the city past fields and forests; catch the Mukilteo exit creep behind a braking driver… down the long hill to the dock.
We’ve five minutes to catch the ferry brake… brake… brake. female ahead finally turns off down a side street. three minutes…red light two minutes…stop sign one minute… buy ticket gate closed. there is a time for everything under the sun a time to be born; a time to die a time to drive; a time to stop a time to catch the ferry; and a time to wait.
Sheila Ryan Wallace Feb. 21, 2009
While We Are Sleeping
the fog, like a slithering shark in the silence of the deep creeps over land, devours trees, buildings, loggers shrouds early morning joggers obscures lakes and rivers until they vanish from sight leaves in its wake tree skeletons with ghostly limbs drapes drowsy birds balanced on a log in the lake enfolds and haunts houses all that impedes its path.
when sun’s warmth penetrates like a guilty child the mist picks up its ragged garments slips across the lake reluctantly evaporates.
Sheila Ryan Wallace Oct. 13, 2007
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