Bio Note: As a child I found terrariums to be fascinating, in that they felt like little worlds. My grandfather made them for us from plants he collected in the mountains of Pennsylvania. This summer I have been reading a book of essays by Loren Eiseley and found that he made terrariums as a child. I have published three chapbooks, the most recent of which is Icarus: Anthropology of Addiction. I am also English language editor for Poetry Hall: A Chinese and English Bilingual Journal, and I serve on the board of the Council for Wisconsin Writers.
The Time We Were Gods
Pop-Pop went to the woods one Saturday and came back with a terrarium filled with deep emerald mosses blue-grey lichen clinging to stone and feathery ferns all gathered from a faery circle he finally found having heard about it from his uncle years earlier. The terrarium rested on the old upright piano and not only was it a place of green mystery it even had its own climate separate from ours like the breath of something holy protected by glass we could gaze through. We tended and guarded this small world as if we were gods. We humans adore nature like a rush of new love that shows great promise. We fashion its essence with our hands and tools like Buckingham Fountain or a vanquished maharaja’s monsoon water palace.
©2020 Sylvia Cavanaugh
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