Trinity Topaz

By Michael H. Kew

Come—wake with me beneath the liquid hush of mountain prairie where can I find you amongst the chimera of time. Where we can zoom down through the bright leaves of alder and maple, midday winds splashing topaz all across the death of Oregon's autumn.

Topaz—one of November's two birthstones. See that it shines through myriad hues. Feel it cool and hard beneath your soles as we stroll aside the coastal stream. Admire the otter, the osprey, the bat, the bald eagle. The frog and the salamander. Beaver Moon strolls with us too.

Espresso—cold windy morn at the beach. Fine surf. No surfers. Further you saturate my mind. Eyes flood with the yellows of beach grass and large driftwood. The yellows of glare as it blinds my steep take-offs over the shallow sandbar. Yellows of the glitter tickling the rivermouth tissues of chinook salmon. Here they spawn in sanctuaries beneath the bare bones of waterside Winchuck woods tumbling in and out of the Siskiyou wilds.

Yellows—of.

This—nature's entropy. The universe's permanent lock.

Unlock—it.

Sharpen—it. So we can cut through life and flow like river. Whatever forever. Early and late rains will rush in, spliced with Sun and spearing the verdure of our dreaming fields. Solar flares slip ever south daily as winter will whisper its new tales to us. About us. About you and me in this newly soul-churned light.

Light—of its yellow love.

Winchuck River. Photo: Native Fish Society.

Fall chinook salmon.

Bigleaf maple.