A few miles up from the ocean reached by truck on rugged road
lined with pale pink buckwheat,
and ruby lit Indian Paintbrush,
I sit by an old wooden cabin
feel sun’s beginning seduction.

Rays closer than usual
probe my skin,
alert my blood to its glory.
An easy surrender.
Myself warmed.
The sun loves its loving.

Soon heat becomes too strong.
I seek overhanging shelter
bask in slanted shade
to slake arising passion.

On the downward return,
I notice small golden poppies
strong enough to nod at wind,
tie themselves to the earth
before sundown closes their petals.

Illia Thompson
Carmel Valley, CA
February 2017