Winter cattails.
I pine to paint them -

golden in winter like wheat.

I sit cross-legged on the snow

my dog sitting, too, beside me,

now as tall as I am.

We are at the delicate edge
looking into the tall and the fallen,
broken, sword and sheath leaves,

at the edge of the cattail forrest -

the tip of the iceberg -
most of the cattails grow under ground.

The stalks, like blown out torches, 

are topped with withered, 

candelwicks.

This beautiful chaos, 

an infinite criss crossing

of snow-scarfed leaves sparkles

gold, yellow, starry white,

in the sun.  A poet's, a writer's 

a composer's, a painter's dream. 

I am blissfully curious
what undying Van Gogh,

who loved walking among
and painting wheat fields,

would have written to Theo

if he could have walked among
and painted these golden
snow-scarfed, sunlit,
winter cattails.

Note:  Cattails are a wilderness food and are highly nutritious.  Please see Wikipedia for more information.