EKPHRASIS : Art Describing Art : 2015
California Writers Club, Mendocino Branch : A Collaboration : Artists Co-Op of Mendocino
Writers Responding to Visual Artworks
Leslie Wahlquist “Meadow Day”
Responded to visual artwork by
Kathy Carl “Lady Bubble Fish””
"Meadow Day" by Leslie Wahlquist
Trout is in love with Ladybeetle. He wears his heart on his sleeve, only being a trout he has no sleeve and he wears his heart like a beautiful tattoo upon his silver scales. Ladybeetle is in the garden gorging on aphids. She finishes her meal and lifts her tiny wings to go in search of Trout. Resting on a lily pad she spies him across the pond. He has been waiting for her. They bask together in the midday sun, as close as can be.
Gossip rings through the meadow. Bullfrog’s broadcast began at dawn: “Trout and Ladybeetle! Trout and Ladybeetle! Trout and Ladybeetle!” It is big news.
“Old Bullfrog is a pompous buffoon,” young Robin mumbles at the earthworm she has stretched tight like a bungee between the soil and her beak.
“Agreed” squeaks the succulent morsel. A final tug pops him free.
“Bullfrog’s right,” Heron spans her wings, “It is just plain odd, a fish with a ladybug.”
“Listen,” says Red Fox lurking in the underbrush. “I’ve known worse. I was in love with a most stunning speckled hen but when push came to shove, if you know what I mean in my excitement, I ate her. When it comes to love you never know what you are capable of.”
“Aye, there’s the rub,” amorous Cricket chimes in from beneath a rock. Preying Mantis, working his way up a stalk of grass, says nothing. He knows the pitfall of passion; an insect in love could lose his mind.
Bee flies through the meadow, shamelessly pollinating everything in sight. “Ours is not to reason why,” he buzzes past, “ours is but to do the deed and die.”
“Glad to see your change of perspective,” Doe says to The Orchard while munching huckleberries. Bear has just pruned their fruitless speculation down to size.
“I like them apples,” he says lumbering into the woods for an afternoon nap.
A small boy has captured a crayfish lolling in the warm mud at the edge of the pond. “Gotcha!” he shouts dropping her into his pail.
“Looks like Crayfish is in a spot of trouble.” Trout says to Ladybeetle who smiles and flutters her long lashes at him. Trout vaults up and dives under water with a flourish, his heart doing a leap of its own. He can’t remember what he did before they met.
Late afternoon breezes cross over the pond. It is never warm enough for Ladybeetle in the meadow. She knows she must venture on to a place where other ladybugs live, and she knows Trout is not one to easily uproot. He is big fish in this spring fed pond. He likes the cold weather. The next time Trout dives under Ladybeetle takes flight, leaving forever, without a goodbye.
“Well, glad that’s over,” we hear from a stand of bull pines near the barn. They are needling, needling, all the time.
Towering Redwood has seen it all before. “Easy does it,” he whispers to Trout whose beautiful heart glows crimson in the long rays of sunset.
Late that night as Trout swims through the moon shadows along the overgrown bank he barely remembers Ladybeetle; well maybe he remembers her just enough to wish her well. He flips his tail in the air and dives down to the bottom of the pond.
“Good luck, Ladybeetle.”
Trout is in love with Ladybeetle. He wears his heart on his sleeve, only being a trout he has no sleeve and he wears his heart like a beautiful tattoo upon his silver scales. Ladybeetle is in the garden gorging on aphids. She finishes her meal and lifts her tiny wings to go in search of Trout. Resting on a lily pad she spies him across the pond. He has been waiting for her. They bask together in the midday sun, as close as can be.
Gossip rings through the meadow. Bullfrog’s broadcast began at dawn: “Trout and Ladybeetle! Trout and Ladybeetle! Trout and Ladybeetle!” It is big news.
“Old Bullfrog is a pompous buffoon,” young Robin mumbles at the earthworm she has stretched tight like a bungee between the soil and her beak.
“Agreed” squeaks the succulent morsel. A final tug pops him free.
“Bullfrog’s right,” Heron spans her wings, “It is just plain odd, a fish with a ladybug.”
“Listen,” says Red Fox lurking in the underbrush. “I’ve known worse. I was in love with a most stunning speckled hen but when push came to shove, if you know what I mean in my excitement, I ate her. When it comes to love you never know what you are capable of.”
“Aye, there’s the rub,” amorous Cricket chimes in from beneath a rock. Preying Mantis, working his way up a stalk of grass, says nothing. He knows the pitfall of passion; an insect in love could lose his mind.
Bee flies through the meadow, shamelessly pollinating everything in sight. “Ours is not to reason why,” he buzzes past, “ours is but to do the deed and die.”
“Glad to see your change of perspective,” Doe says to The Orchard while munching huckleberries. Bear has just pruned their fruitless speculation down to size.
“I like them apples,” he says lumbering into the woods for an afternoon nap.
A small boy has captured a crayfish lolling in the warm mud at the edge of the pond. “Gotcha!” he shouts dropping her into his pail.
“Looks like Crayfish is in a spot of trouble.” Trout says to Ladybeetle who smiles and flutters her long lashes at him. Trout vaults up and dives under water with a flourish, his heart doing a leap of its own. He can’t remember what he did before they met.
Late afternoon breezes cross over the pond. It is never warm enough for Ladybeetle in the meadow. She knows she must venture on to a place where other ladybugs live, and she knows Trout is not one to easily uproot. He is big fish in this spring fed pond. He likes the cold weather. The next time Trout dives under Ladybeetle takes flight, leaving forever, without a goodbye.
“Well, glad that’s over,” we hear from a stand of bull pines near the barn. They are needling, needling, all the time.
Towering Redwood has seen it all before. “Easy does it,” he whispers to Trout whose beautiful heart glows crimson in the long rays of sunset.
Late that night as Trout swims through the moon shadows along the overgrown bank he barely remembers Ladybeetle; well maybe he remembers her just enough to wish her well. He flips his tail in the air and dives down to the bottom of the pond.
“Good luck, Ladybeetle.”
