for Ani

Yesterday as the fog gathered on the hill, I walked above the house into the pasture and picked wildflowers, one of each kind, for Ani, the bride. Frogs in the cattle pond big as cats and dogs call and grunt like cows and ducks all night. Barn swallows flutter and glide in graceful curves above the meadow, under the eaves, and dip their beaks into the pond, on the wing. Little birds twitter in the grasses. Below the house, the water of the reservoir stretches out between hills in two directions reflecting green, dark green, and blue. The hills, dotted and clustered with trees, roll around juttings of rock. The fog is clearing; the grass is dry; the sun is warm. The calls of blackbirds echo up the ravine.

25 May 1986