Poppies and Lupine

A long El Niño winter filled rivers

and drained the sky into a palette

of whites and grays, but now above is flush

with blue, and in November’s stubble fields

wild grasses grow chest high. Gnats

and apple blossoms glow in the morning sun,

and in California meadows

poppies and lupine mingle

as if they’d invented the color wheel,

like friends who love bold

fashion and go shopping together,

noontime and midnight meeting for drinks.

How can I blaze like they do,

exuberant and heedless of burning out?

Step out your door

and seek your shadow.

Savor and serve it all,

mystic and hedonist,

hostess and hermit,

the good daughter and the performer

who’s only acting the part.

For every purpose under heaven

there is a time —

for yes, for no,

for beholding beauty

and for giving it away. 

O poppies, o lupine,

I want to kiss the world.

Teach me how to flaunt orange,

show me how to dare purple!

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With appreciation to all my writing friends who helped me make this a better poem