I stand in a field
of purple cone flowers.
I climbed the steep hill
behind our house
to arrive here
watching butterflies
drink nectar
and flutter
from flower to flower,
and gazing at the
dappled sunlight
cast over the blooms
on the edge
of the forest.
I am hypnotized
by their beauty.
I look down upon
our yard
and garden
and my husband
tying tendrils of beans
up on poles, the hills
casting long shadows
down around him,
but he kneels in
the one patch of
glowing golden
in a sea of
deep green.