Of sunsets and trees

Every one of them
picture windows, no matter the size.
The old cedarwood cabin features portraits
family portraits often, redwoods and pines
with suns that set or rise in warm toned palettes
splashed viridescent, berry red and evergreen.

The frames hang a little crooked
broken on one edge, let us say rustic
in a wabi-sabi kind of way. And bleached
that weather-beaten silver grey
the colour of aged cedar and timber wolves
– they too feature, coming in to view
with the last rays of summer days
or sneaking some shelter in the rough den
scratched out below.

And all through the seasons
always unpredictably, a solitary figure arrives.
At her desk in the window, the very picture
of a poet, framed with far-off gaze
ruminating on sunsets and trees.


An ekphrastic prompted by The Sunday Muse #137


13 Comments on “Of sunsets and trees

  1. Trees and the horizon are always a wonderful Muse! I love this gorgeous ekphrastic Laura! So wonderful to see you at the Muse!

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  2. Love the way the images weave in and out of the window–a lovely poem. 🙂

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  3. This is a beautiful write … I chuckled out loud reading ‘let us say rustic in a wabi-sabi kind of way.’ Cheers.

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  4. Laura: Really great — you layer the visual imagery in with the imaginative. I especially liked this: “the colour of aged cedar and timber wolves”, as it brings the wolf spirit, the poet, into the frame as a color, blending yet moving on its own in the shadows.

    Welcome to ekphratic prompting! I didn’t really get this for a very long time; I felt like I needed words to prompt words. But I found a while back that because the images *didn’t* necessarily create a narrative starting point, I was able to react more subconsciously. Glad you are here, hope you decide to keep us company

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    • Fabulous feedback and I very much appreciated it. Actually it’s your poetry that inspired me to give this prompt a go and even as I wrote this was wishing I could be less literal and find the kind of side-stepped narratives you manage so well

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  5. Laura, I like your old things. I still have a few that I hiested from an old abanded elegant house on the next farm over. I must have been eleven or twelve then. Later the house was reworked for a city family to live there.
    ..

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    • Actually Jim – I/m not a collector of old or new but could imagine various images reflected in this ‘picture window’

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  6. Ah, i especially love the poet in the window at the end.

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