Nature Photography, Poetry

Matilija Poppies on the Trail

Ephemeral Beauty

The poppies send up their orange flares; swaying in the wind, their congregations are a levitation of bright dust, of thin and lacy leaves. — Mary Oliver (Poppies)

Each spring in Southern California, a miracle blossoms. Seemingly overnight, the scraggly shrubs along the side of the bike trail erupt into a euphoric explosion of egg-yolk yellow and papery white flowers.

The Matilija Poppy, native to California and northern Mexico, can grow as tall as ten feet — reaching towards the blue, blue sky — and each flower stretches as wide as five to nine inches across. They are the largest of all of the flowers of the poppy family.

The sight of a field of these poppies can take my breath away. How something so delicate can thrive in the parched earth astounds me. And yet, each spring, fed by the winter rains, they emerge from the gravel to dance on the wind.

They flounce in the breeze with casual elegance, but their apparent freedom is deceptive. Once established, their complex root system can reach as far as twenty feet. Although the show is ephemeral, the plant, itself, is tenacious.

They inspired me to write this poem a couple of years ago:

The Poppy

Oh, angel on high, your rapturous cry echoes wordlessly on the breeze,

and brings me to my knees.

For nature is my church, the blue vault of the sky, my temple, and the dark rich earth beneath my fingertips, my holy book.

The crook of your stem, the float of your flounce, your filmy white petals, light as feathers, spark indescribable joy in me,

and a spiral of delight takes flight from my toes to who knows where, when it leaves my body,

intersecting, connecting with the grid of reality which shifts beneath my feet,

warping and dancing in a synchronous beat, with the ephemeral beauty

of the poppy.

While riding my mountain bike the other day in the late afternoon, while the light was slanting low, I spotted this stand of flowers. I hopped off of the bike, wishing that I had my “real” camera with me, but glad that I had my trusty iPhone 13 Pro Max.

The center of the flower is often described as looking like a fried egg.

And the petals are like crepe paper, crinkly and thin.

Their petals seem to cup the light and hold it to their very breast.

I’ll have to return sometimes soon, before the show is over, with my Nikon. But, for now, I’m just happy to have captured a few images with my phone of this glorious expression of Nature’s miraculousness.

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).

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Story and photos ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.