The Furious Spinner

This is a photo of an Iraqi who was a prisoner in Abu Ghraib. Just about broke my heart when I saw it. Felt like I would melt from the grief. Went out and sat in my garden.

Then I walked over to the Kuan Yin Peace Garden, a few yards away. The deer had eaten my red ornamental poppies. In some versions of the story of Demeter and Kore, the daughter picks the poppy which represents the Earth and her mother—trapped in the underworld, the flower of deep sleep connects her to Nature, her mother, and rebirth. The leaves of the poppy were sacred to Hera, the ancient goddess of sexuality and fertility before the Greeks kidnapped her and made her part of their pantheon, turning her into the shrewish wife of Zeus.

For me, the ornamental poppies looked like flowers made from that crinkly paper—crepe? A mixture of nature and culture. Truth, beauty, and artifice. All wrapped up in this reddish orange flower swaying in the wind next to Kuan Yin. I smiled every time I looked out the window and saw them. Now the deer had consumed them. I was annoyed and charmed all in the same breath. My neighbor shot at the deer if he saw any, along with the raccoons and coyotes, even though we lived in town. Many people considered deer to be pests—varmints, if you will. They reminded me of coyotes, actually. Regal tricksters who looked fey, elegant, and ready to break apart at any sound but who could leap ten foot fences at a single bound just to get to your roses. Or ornamental poppies. Deer drifted in and out of sight, at dawn and dusk, part of mist and memory. Today I smiled as I looked at the place where the poppies had been. "You are welcome," I whispered. Then went back to the wars... 0 comments

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All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.