A Life in Wild Flowers
A
blur
of red,
wild flowers
in a field of grass,
of quiet cattle, tan and black.
In childhood's rural ramblings we gathered every bloom.
Wet blotting paper kept them whole and vivid 'til we matched them with pictures in our books.
By the time of growing up, the names had truly stuck.
We knew tansy and chicory,
rose-bay willow-herb,
but it's called
fireweed
here,
now.
