On Day 5 of National Poetry Month we are prompted to title our poems,
“(Noun) in (Location)”…
Trouble in Paradise
Very early on, before it became California,
winters were mild, game was bountiful, fish plentiful,
survival not an issue. No mortgage, no outside noises,
time for family and friends, singing and dancing,
time to embrace spirituality, enjoy nature, create art.
Early on, before cities and cars,
the villages below obscured by mist,
One can imagine the hunter-gatherers,
bows and clubs in hand, snares at their waist,
bags of mussels and grasshoppers for a later meal.
Later on, standing atop Sonoma Mountain,
the Santa Rosa plain in white-out from the fog,
thinking about what was gained and lost,
one could imagine the time before the Europeans came,
before a different type of white-out.
Much later on, finding a muse in one’s bemusement,
as the sun peeks over the mountain, lifting the fog,
one can imagine the coming of Drake, maybe Magellan,
the Spanish priests and Russian trappers,
And one can grasp the meaning of paradise lost.
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