#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Sunflower without petals, meadow morning

Excerpt from “Sunflower Sutra,” by Allen Ginsburg

I saw them, scattered in the meadow of the old hospital, on the top of the hill where kids sled in the winter and where the grass and flowers grow high as my chest in the summer. I saw them from the street, driving by, a few days ago, and thought, I want to walk there and take their glorious pictures. Today, I put the dogs in the car and drove up Hospital Road to the meadow to walk, We stepped into the high grass, sprinkled with unseen prickers that tore at my knees. We waded into the grass as into a sea, and I lost sight of the dogs and kept calling to make sure they didn’t ramble away toward the road while I ogled the sunflowers in all their states of almost bloom and past bloom, food for the pecking birds. It was a sky of lightish blue and a bit of a chill in the air for almost September. After the sunflower splurge, we walked across the street, through the old hospital grounds and across meadows and by the river and into the woods. I wanted to capture the bright yellow tansy freshly in bloom - the lemony yellows of today’s habitat. We stayed out for quite a while and then I had a few plants to put in and some watering. My poem, for tonight, needed some couple of tweaks. And, tonight, I am intoxicated with encouragement. What I’m doing with the Ritual for Eggs, the transitions I’m making are working. The shift I’m making from prose to poetry is the right one. I’m grateful to see that so clearly now. And last week, I almost gave up on this piece and I didn’t. And now, I keep going. I have a lot of work I’m eager to do on it.