To Only Scratch the Surface

There is a mountain, and there is a field.

There is a rose, and there is humankind.

*

Which is more beautiful?

The scented wild rose or a field of wheat?

Winter wheat emerges beneath the fallen snow,

Cold blades protected from the killing frost.

I walk the furrows in my mind.

Though the wheat can bear some adversity and flourish

I would scratch the crust of snow

breathe the breath of life into them

with all the spirit I possess

to ensure the roots drive deep enough

to support the burden of a life-giving harvest more precious than gold.

Glancing over the uninterrupted lines of snow

We are more than meets the eye.

But to one who has much,

perhaps the scent of a rose is more desirable.

*

Which is more precious?

A mountain, a vein of gold, or a life of a man?

A mountain will not spring up remade.

The stone is hacked away to the smelter or drenched in cyanide.

Twenty tons of rock worn on an ear, a finger, or a wrist,

the heart of the mountain flayed open and exposed.

I finger my ears and the beaten mountain heart upon them.

I cannot breathe life into stone. I cannot move a mountain.

A man may be renewed at certain times and in certain places.

*

Which is more just?

Which is the bound, which is the free?

The giving of life, the living of life, the taking of life,

the plowed field, the humbled heights.

We have removed ourselves from elemental life,

No gratitude to the uncountable living seed,

No gratitude toward the soil that cradles them.

No mercy to the mountain.

No love towards each other.

Poison has become our god

in the diminishing value of life.

*

Can wheat be paid for with a mountain?

Can a ring be paid for with a field of wheat?

Can a soul? Can a rose?

Lodged deep within every person,

invisible nuggets of light.

We must do more than scratch the surface

but also we must preserve it,

this conundrum I ponder in the coming year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for taking the time to read my work.

In October 2023 I began writing poems around the seventy-two micro-seasons of the traditional Japanese calendar. You can follow my list or read poems in the cycle here with a Medium subscription. They were originally published in Scribe with Thomas Gaudex as editor.

This current season of winter is called tōji- (冬至) Winter Solstice. It is the fourth of the six winter seasons, hinging on the solstice.

The three micro-seasons of tōji are:

December 22–26 Self-Heal Sprouts- natsukarekusa shōzu (乃東生)

December 27–31 Deer Shed Antlers- sawashika no tsuno otsuru (麋角解)

January 1–4 Wheat Sprouts Under Snow- yuki watarite mugi nobiru (雪下出麦)

Wishing you quiet reflection and joy in the first days of our calendar year.

Natalie