Roadside Blues . . .

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I had to pick up my old friend, Homer Stern
At the airport yesterday
To the north of here by the town of Beauvais
It was a good reason to go back there
To see the cathedral again
For the second time in a week
For who can tire of visiting cathedrals ?
I had taken him there to the airport a few days ago
For his departure to Budapest
He had wanted to visit that exotic city
To try to salvage echoes from his distant past
When he returned yesterday
I could see he had lived a lifetime there
And he had a whole suitcase full of echoes
I silently hoped that one day he might share
A few of them with me
But he is a very secretive fellow
We had hardly pulled out of the fenced airport
In a bit of a drizzling rain
When he cried, "Halt !"
So I pulled off the road
He said, "Just look,
Look at those roadside blues . . ."
And so I did . . .
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And though this is not a blog about flowers
Sometimes I cannot help myself
When the simple beauty
Of the world we inhabit
Casts itself before my eyes.
Who could harm such a place ?
And I said to Homer
"I missed you brother of mine"
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A little further on down the road
He cried, "Halt !" again
For poppies this time
And light lavender colored miracles
Stretching off into the distance . . .
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So we stopped again
To look at freshly washed poppies
Still glistening from their shower . . .
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If any of you astute and erudite readers
Know the name of these light lilac colored
Blooms with dark blue streaks
Pray tell, pray tell . . .
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When I was rather young

I can remember getting

Totally exasperated

When my father would stop

To photograph wildflowers

Along mountain trails

When there were lakes

Full of fish awaiting us

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If you are reading this now

Father of mine

I would love to see those photos

You took so long ago

If they could be rooted out

From the closet where they lay

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Perhaps more than you know

I learned something along those walks

It just took rather a long time

For the lessons to grow

And show . . .
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And again if a learned reader

Knows the name of these white blossoms

I would be most grateful to learn it . . .
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As I am wont to do

We stopped in a small village cemetery

Deep in the countryside

There was no one dropping in

But us and the rain

A peony bush was blazing pink

Defying the grey elements . . .
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Bowed down by the weight

Of all that falling water

Other blooms were sinking

Near another one once risen

Now fallen here . . .

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Miracles were many yesterday

As Homer and I wandered city streets

And country lanes

But this most surprising

Eruption of many buds

From a single thick stalk

Was perhaps the highlight

Of a well illuminated day

"What the heck is it ?"

I heard Homer say . . .
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Atop a cemetery wall

Around a church visible

From a main road

Which I'd said to Homer

I wanted to go look at

More closely

This strange yellow colony

Was happily thriving

Another mystery

Why did I not

Learn more botany ???

There is such a wealth

Of poetry in botany . . .

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