Windblown

© 2012 Robert Hilles

Count rhododendron blossoms
nested in all that celebratory green
Count Scotch broom
along rock-terraced hillsides
Count flies winter drunk
slipping from cracks
Count quarter-sized daisies
on the front lawn
white daubs the eye notices first
Count windblown Douglas fir branches
forming needled humps over scruffy grass
Count the buds on the fig tree
contorted hazelnut
the Oregon grape seasoned with red inedible berries
that rise in nubs on each careful branch

Count dried stems of winter kill
plants whose roots shrivel and give
in the uneven ground
Count gradual mountains
pressing green against clouded horizon

Count deer that visit the yard at nightfall
and sniff bunched grass
sample first sprouts of annuals
Count fist-sized clumps of moss blown from the roof

This afternoon you stand in shadows
shoulders straight and watch a car

pull into the driveway
you should turn and go in
but wait for a man to get out
kick aside moss and start to speak
Count to ten
the earth heaves