Surgery

Metzner family, 1957, at the Catskill farm.  I'm in the middle holding Keith with Tante Elsie holding me!

My blessed ancestors walk with me
to one of the edges of the world.
Oh you who now walk balanced,
one foot in each plane of existence!
I inhale your fragrance.
Your reaching hands pull me,
pull me upward, toward you, beside you,
pull me forward to your place between the worlds.
Oh Nana, your warm soft skin, your welcoming smile!
Oh Mama, your soft tender caress!
Oh Daddy, your chuckle and a chuck under the chin.
Oh Peter, my son, your helping hands always.
My ancestors, your power so strong now, near Hallowmas,
your nearness almost audible, your fragrance all around,
you guide me back, back to this life,
back to this exquisite sparkling world we once shared,
and still do.

Annelinde Metzner
October 23, 2015

Dad and Peter

Mom and Peter

Nana

Stay

Don’t run
Don’t do this and that
Don’t get your camera
Turn off the phone.
Stay.
Feel a little uncomfortable, antsy, but stay.
It’s quiet now, but soon
the world begins to reveal itself to you.
The oriole is leaping, up and down, up and down,
over dried seed pods.
The hummingbird finds each and every flower
of the brilliant jewelweed.
The warning call of the raptor,
and the pale-winged osprey
flies clear across the open field, north to south.
Stay.  Grow as slowly as a hawthorne.
Ripen one thing a day.
Be Still.  
Stay.

Annelinde Metzner
Catskill Farm
August 3, 2011

St. John's Wort

Goldenrod

The long haul

Butter-and-eggs

“I think of the long haul”
says the sparkling jewelweed outside my window,
curling her brilliant orange flowers
into tension-sprung seeds, so sensitive to passing touch.
“Do you feel it on the breeze?”
I feel it on the breeze, a quiet zephyr,
luxuriating across the wide meadow,
heralding icy months not far away.
“We’re in this for the long haul,’
say the hummingbirds, quite relaxed,
zipping from blossom to blossom,
storing up energy to fly,
to fly! across the Gulf to Mexico.
“Think of the long haul,
the wide expanse of time,”
says the barn owl, spotting a wee mouse.
“It’s our time, and guess what?
It’s your time too.”
Late at night, heat lightning explodes,
incandescent over the horizon, without a sound,
reminding us to paint our lives long and wide.
It’s time, it’s our time,
the long haul, long and wide,
you and I.



Annelinde Metzner
Catskill Farm
September 4, 2015

Milkweed for the monarch butterflies

Yarrow and strawberry