Blue Bells Ringing
Blue Bells, a wildflower, dancing in the wind. Photo by Dalton Johnson
Blue Bells Ringing
What is that, that which I hear?
Like a curious cat, I kneel and seal my ear
to the ground, so I may not fear:
the bear, so large, it makes the ground quake.
the mountain lion, so sly, it pounces upon its prey.
My mind conjures mysterious muses
Why do you betray me like this?
As I toil on my knees, alone, in the woods.
I want to go home, to the warmth of a fire
I just want to look out the window, so I can admire;
Blue Bells ringing in the gentle spring breeze
Honeybees dancing atop the pedal leaves
But, my bucket of berries still has some space…
Peeling my ear from the soil,
I place my hands on my knees, so I may stand
For I dare not dilly-dally no…
Shhhhh.
There it is, again.
Frozen, I remain,
only to realize, the growl of my belly
began the fright which paralyzed, and started the fright.
I laugh at the fantasy a bored mind can build and
allow my purple stained fingers to fill
The bucket until the bounty breaches the rim.
My job here is done,
so I may seek the comfort of
the window, a fire, and a wild berry pie.
Staying at a cabin in the woods, completely off the grid, near Homer, Alaska. Photo by Dalton Johnson
While on a backpacking trip along the Kenai Peninsula, I came across wildflower blooms of Bluebells. For some reason, these little flowers caught my eye. I wanted to capture them and share a story with the concept of these bells ringing, an imaginary noise. As this idea for the poem developed in my head, I stayed at a cabin deep in the woods and off the grid.
Collecting my water, using fire to heat the cabin, and drinking endless coffee, I scratched ideas down in my journal as I looked out the window at the blooms of wildflowers. The poem wouldn’t shake my mind, so I knew I need to write something, even if it was total crud.
While staying at the cabin, tucked away from society, I dreamed of collecting enough berries to bake a berry pie. The ironic thing… I was preoccupied with wild bear encounters, sweating in the sauna, and cold dips in the river.
When I sat down to write this poem, I imagined an older woman living alone, off the grid, in a cabin. The cabin I had stayed at in Alaska. This nature poem was an attempt at showcasing the mental battle of being alone in the woods, mixed with the reality of curiosity. I wanted the poem to have a sense of fun, yet be serious. Attempt a small commentary about living off the land and a slower-paced life.
Often, I am pulled in several directions, unsure where or what to do, because the omnipresent distractions overpower the present moment.
