Saturday Morning

…Under bamboos that sing to the wind
and wall the cathedral sky,
my body surges…
A rush of balsam wind boils the clouds,
roils my shirt, my skin,
enfleshing the living breath, deep and long.
Like weeding the garden: hands become weeds,
become shovel, become time.
Body becomes rhythm, becomes power;
becomes wind, becomes Mind.

A cotton cloud of ibises float after.

—Betsy Lagana Bluangtook


Notes: Poem – Thank you Beth at Alive on All Channels. Photo – Bamboo by kristof casteren

Comments

  1. Interesting imagery.
    Back in Aiken and we have several, large stands of bamboo around town. It is fun to look at as it is so different.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. a cotton cloud of ibises floating – perfect

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Nice pic and poem.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I love this line:Under bamboos that sing to the wind
    and wall the cathedral sky

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Perfect for Earth Day

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Amazing writing! 💚🍀🍃

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Dave, thanks for posting the image and text…A rush of fond, childhood memories flow in,…of the magical summertime in the bamboo jungle…the dense grove, so green, the smooth, cool feel against my cheek as I hug the thick trunks. the hard strength of the tall, towering, straight bamboo giving way to outstretching, branching, to narrow, slender, elongated, delicate looking yet fibrous leaves some having gathered over time covering the jungle floor, decaying into a soft parchment colored papery leaf skeleton, the dappled light filters downward, shimmering through the thousands of overhead leaves, presenting a soothing environment as a breeze kisses the leaves, the light dances, swaying as a soft song begins…the summer mellows, the countdown to school days looms…
    as the summer transitions into fall and fall rains flow slowly into the long, cold wet winter I eagerly wait for spring, and its gifts: the bright Crocus, the sunny Daffodils, the pink Dogwood, the red Quince, the Pussy-willows, vivid Forsythia, Camilla’s paintbox of color, the Snowball shrub, the fruit trees bloom,with promise of apples, pears and plumbs, the wild flowers delight… the warmth and extended light have woken up the complex soil, signals are sent, growth has began… soon, noticeable in the mid to late spring is the burst of emerging bamboo shoots, clothed in tortoise shell, flecked wrapping, reaching, instinctively toward the sky…
    the spreading jungle encroaching daily…the growth amazing me, I document by way of daily counting of the shots measuring the height before school and then again after school,often discovering new shoots emerging..and the tears along with sinking loss when someone mowing the lawn wasn’t mindful of the tiny ones, hidden in the grass, or the knocking over of ones clearly visible…losing a treasure is never easy…
    and I remember the gift of time spent alone, at times with siblings, neighbor friends, the laughter, peace, freedom, serenity and exploration just out my backdoor…
    …and again, marveling at such rapid change that took place… such a hands on immersion, climbing, wanting to swing and holler like Tarzan, picnicking, growing intellectually and physically alongside the bamboo reaping Joy from the interaction with nature…
    ///we had two varieties of bamboo mostly a very tall, with a good diameter and some smaller kinda clumping thin stocked group…///this year our area lost thousands of wild honey bee hives due to the serve ice storms, it is so sad…we were thankful to see a wild hive busily working in a hallow in a tree out along the river…I’ve seen big bumble bees in the yard but no honey bees…

    Liked by 1 person

    • You got me from go Christie. Loved this: “the dense grove, so green, the smooth, cool feel against my cheek as I hug the thick trunks. the hard strength of the tall, towering, straight bamboo giving way to outstretching, branching, to narrow, slender, elongated, delicate looking yet fibrous …”

      Like

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