Lane Called Canyon

 

Here is our place of Good Fortune.
We give thanks; pack up many boxes.

15 years of living within sight of the ocean
has come to an end; begin the move inland in April,
when the Box Tree Pittosporum
undulatum across the street is in full
flower, intoxicating bats & moths with heady
perfume long into the night; difficult
for us to leave the coast this fragrant time of year.

New neighbor brings us Mexican stew our first day here,
bright yellow cobs rock in the black pot like rafts;
we plant peppers, squash & tomatoes the following weekend.
We will bring her stew come autumn; we will come to call
her the canyon crone.

Here is our place of Good Fortune.
We give thanks; turn the soil over.

Big tree towers over the new place, drops many brown leaves
those first weeks here. Daily we carry rinse water to it;
hesitantly call it our Nutmeg Tree, for lack of a better name.
Tree begins to turn green, tiny new leaves shining
in the sun’s hot light. Soon white
blossoms & intoxicating perfume, not
a nutmeg at all, it is Pittosporum
undulatum: incredulous
hummingbirds, bees & butterflies now
drink nectar in high July.

Here is our place of Good Fortune.
We give thanks; throw bread into the air.

Ribbon snake follows sidewalk into garden one hot morning;
we set saucer of water in its path but it does not drink.
Last seen disappearing into the ficus hedge: came only to bless us.
Later we serpentine a walkway of gravel through the garden’s center –
12 square flagstones form a diamond pattern down the middle.

Here is our place of Good Fortune.
We give thanks; stomp ground as warning to the timid.

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