Manzanita

By Kenneth Johnson

A bird sits alone on a branch
in the garden as we talk about
nature and lost souls. If there
is such a thing. The bird sings
to no one. Does it have a soul?
We could push everything aside 
to reveal light breaking through 
the trees. We could reveal secrets 
if we knew what we believed. 
Could we strip naked and reveal 
our betrayals? There is a stream
that flows through this valley 
in spring. The water gives shape 
to our formless selves. It carries  
us as we make our way across
the hills and through the skies. 
It sustains us and the land as we 
fashion myths from nothingness,
as we nurture carefully crafted 
prophecies. We are surrounded 
by forests of small broadleaf trees
bearing fruit, not all of it edible. 
The manzanita’s leaves are perfect 
ovals and thick to absorb moisture.
Its alluring red flowers and berries 
bloom each spring and are edible. 
They will save us if we fall. 

Kenneth Johnson is a visual artist, writer, and educator living in Claremont, California. His work includes myriad subjects, from the conceptual to the mundane.