Non-Native PlantsJune mountains ablaze in yellowwild mustard running wild on every slope.A gift, as legend has it,from California’s missionariesmarking trails from San Diego to San Franciscountil their route blurred into a riot of mustardgreedy plants absorbing every raindropevery touch of moisturedenying others a chance to drink . . . to grow.August with its alchemic heat turns gold to brownkindle for October windswhen wildfires paint our hills in a blaze of redand reseed the mustardin a bed of ashes.Rick Stepp-Bolling
The Venus Fly TrapA carnivore she's a meat eaterthe innocent fly draws near the nectarWith a flick of the legon a spine in the baseThe flower closes in an instantquicker than the fly?how fast she moves
I have lived in this place for half of my life nowNot yet a long life, but decadesNot daysLong enough to take things for grantedTo see something without lookingAnd know if it fits.When there is something out of place I am jarred back to awarenessSharp and urgentOffendedBy the palm treeIn a Sacramento suburb.
here in my homethis lush forest of greenfrom lovely desert