Mt. Boney

By Joy Schmutz

Before summer is May,
Warm and beautiful,
With fair weather and the last of the flowers.
She wears a dark green,
Still celebrating spring but knowing the heat is coming,
Cotton and hemp pants,
With a loose fit and a draw waist,
Yellow flowers in her hair and in her pockets.

When June and July come,
The yellow is exchanged for olive-toned scrub oak,
The last of her vibrant green for light brown and tan.
A flowing skirt and apron,
Cotton is breathable and light enough for the heat.
Her hair is tied up and covered,
Otherwise she would be covered in dust.
Her shrubs are still slightly green, though,
With pops of white from the yucca,
And the last of her creek still trickling at her feet.

When it becomes August,
She’s in dark browns,
And has shed the cotton for linen,
Despite her strong stature,
Like everyone else,
She begins to melt.
But work is hard and time is short,
With sweat on her brow, she prepared for fall.

When fall comes she is worse for wear,
September only gets warmer.
And eventually, even her sisters fold to the heat.
Eventually, she ignites.
Shades of reds and yellows,
Slashes of orange,

And she burns bright until she suddenly doesn’t.

Once the beauty of the burn is done,
she is left in mourning.
With winter on the horizon, she wears black,
Thick cotton and wool weigh her down.
She listens to the sun and the stars,
She sits with the rain when no one else will,
But never speaks herself.

And eventually, her black gown is shed,
With the smell of spring,
As it flows into February.
And she is born anew in shades of blues and orange.
The sun and the sky,
The rain and the clouds,
Could not rival her.

And with March everything explodes with color,
Soon her blue and orange wardrobe introduces tones of yellow and green,
And she sings with the birds,
And while they sleep she harmonizes with the creeks,
She sways with the grasses,
And hops with the rabbits.

And with April she celebrates,
Weathered and beautiful,
Boney is dancing in green.