Rock River

 

 

Once again, my pilgrimage
North to my ancient Grandmother,
that jagged mountain so old
Her power infuses everything.
But this is October, and the people are here,
everywhere, joyously gobbling up
the brilliant Autumn colors with their eyes.
I cannot even get near!
And then the thought, to a way much lower,
closer to Her deep roots,
closer to She who leads us so deep into the Earth.
As I venture around, unknowing,
She reveals this much to me:
for Her, the giant boulders
are Her toys, Her playthings.
Monumental stones are here,
which She has tossed gaily in a fit of joy.
My son once said, "Mom, a Rock River."
Here She has floated the giant stones
all in a tumble down Her beautiful sides.
Streams run with music as they splash among the rocks.
All of this Her terrain, Her birthplace, Her legacy!
Here at the very lowest, She has left us a trace,
a history of Her energy and might,
many-ton boulders strewn across the mountain
where She tossed them for us to see.

Annelinde Metzner

October 19, 2022

 

 

A Rock River

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Autumn Fullness

 

 

 

The abundance of Autumn.
Apples ripening, apples of Avalon,
every grain at its fullest,
amaranth, oats and wheat.
Milkweed pods, ready for Monarchs,
about to burst open and float away.
Goldenrod flowers bend on their stalks.
Blackberries, raspberries for the bear’s delight.
There is no coolness yet, no frost,
but still, we are storing away,
all living beings, storing away,
aware at some level of the icy cold to come.
Autumn! Why have I not seen your fullness,
your round abundance, your gifts?
Seed after seed on the underside of ferns.
Burrs clinging to our clothes.
Dragonflies dip and soar across the field,
bees and hummingbirds gorging.
Oh, round fullness of Autumn!
My mouth opens:  feed me. 

Annelinde Metzner, 9/1/2015

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