Cresting the Cascades (the Feathered Scent of Hope)

 

A thousand trees from sunset,

each with a hand held out our windows

 

cupping an apricot wind,

a warm pine breeze combs through our hair.

 

We curve, and twist,

take one last dip

 

before the fall of the sun

and the rising

 

of a champagne moon

bubbling up,

 

spilling the glass,

jealous of day’s light.

 

And just like that,

she’s cresting the berried branches,

 

nesting on the seat

between us,

 

that thing with feathers,

suddenly thirsty, opening wide,

 

suddenly bright.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

  

For The Word Garden Word List and

What’s Going On?  Fragrance

 

Hope is the thing with feathers – Emily Dickinson, of course.

 

Mountain Music

 

 

When, not if, the trail leads me

to face the rocky Baboquivari

looming with the threat of jaguars and rattlesnakes,

 

at least it gives the promise

of Mexican Frankincense

in the burning Sonoran heat.

 

The taunt retreats,

and for a moment,

is a courting lover

 

blowing an arid, piney kiss

from a ribbon of birds whistling

in trees near the narrowing peak.

 

These are no mere trifles.  But welcome sugar. 

Welcome, sweet.  And though the bitter

may not be made quite golden, I’m thankful

 

God made it so that if the mountain doesn’t move,

and I’m going to have to climb that thing,

at least it sings.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

Word Garden Word List

dVerse Poetics:  Personifying the Abstract

(life & challenges/trials)