Purple Loosestrife All Through My Brain

I took a walk on the road along the river this evening. The purple loosestrife is beginning to spark on the roadside. The wetlands soon will be in violet flames. But tonight they were loud with red-winged blackbirds, more than a hundred of them. That and the wide calm river and the smudge of red bleeding through the low clouds in the western sky literally made me stop and breathe in deeply. It was as if life was just too full.

In Heat

The purple loosestrife sparks
July—the wetlands will
ignite and burn in arcs
above the chlorophyll
infested undergrowth.
I hear the redwing quoth
the green grass nevermore—
yellow is making hay.
The sun is paramour
to this auto-da-fe—
it’s more than just the source.
We’re its intercourse.

Gregory Perry 2004

That’s probably what happens when you begin reading and blogging Thoreau’s journals. But damn, these are the moments when you realize you’re not delighted to be alive—you’re alive to be delighted! Excuse me while I kiss the sky.