Soaring
I confess. We entered the museum to see hand-carved duck decoys. How easily I imagined rumpy carthorses pulling the Webb caleche in the roundbarn down slushy New York streets. One wicker casket to haul a body in the horse-drawn hearse on a hot day. Then the Wyeth painting in the room of its own – curators mounted it as a lone window into winter. The mind’s eye hangs over simple snowy pastures as vultures twirl, wide-reached acrobats, haunting splendors far above the bleached farmyard. Its own gray room, the painting has, with rows of pews, churchy so I hover over feathered scavengers, all-seeing of snow and gray hills unto the horizon. Perhaps the wingeds’ nonchalance is part braggadocio, how drawn clouds ignore the bland workings of man for the magnificence of a wake of vultures. Tricia Knoll Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet who owns a small peninsula on a pond in Vermont. The Shelburne Museum is a nearby treasure. Knoll's chapbook Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press) features the interactions of humans and wildlife in urban habitat. Ocean's Laughter (Aldrich Press) features lyric and eco-poetry of place about a small town on Oregon's north coast. Website: triciaknoll.com
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June 2025
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