Primitive Places: Collected Haiku

By Steve K. Bertrand

Under Primitive Places is a collection of haiku by Steve K. Bertrand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781796089592

Steve K. Bertrand

For this pictorial history of Paine Field, Steve K. Bertrand has selected more than 200 images from the local community, historical societies, regional libraries, and state archives. He has traced the rich history of Paine Field from its earliest days to its present status as a bustling airport and commercial aviation center. These photographs provide a glimpse into the people and events that influenced this small community in the Pacific Northwest.

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Copyright © 2020 by Steve K. Bertrand.

ISBN:      Softcover        978-1-7960-8958-5

                eBook              978-1-7960-8959-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 02/25/2020

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For the Soul Seekers

"The most primitive places left with us

are the swamps, where the spruce still grows

shaggy with usnea."

-Henry David Thoreau

Preface

Visiting Montezuma Castle

Our Nature lies in movement, complete calm is death.

-Blaise Pascal

An August hike through Arizona’s Verde Valley,

pine, juniper & desert scrub,

brings me to the ancient, Sinaquan ruin

known as Montezuma Castle.

From the 12th to 14th centuries, the Sinaquan Indians,

a peaceful people, farmed this land,

grew corn, beans & squash,

built their 20-room, 5-story dwelling

in the white limestone cliffside,

70-feet above the Verde Valley.

It is the land of ash, alder, sycamore,

lizard, rattle snake, tarantula,

Gray wolf, Spotted owl, Peregrine falcon.

The Sinaqua were gifted weavers & craftsmen.

With mud & stone, they built their cliff-side dwelling,

tucked inside the tawny & pewter cave,

&, for 800-years it has endured wind, rain, sun.

Yes, for 800-years it has endured the ravages

of nature, time & man,

their chert knives, shell bracelets, wooden flutes,

stone axes, Yucca baskets, bone awls

found amongst cocklebur, tumbleweed & Bermuda grass.

Warbler & Cowbird still know the old stories;

passed down from generation to generation.

They flit & flutter through reeds, twigs & branches,

along Beaver Creek,

past bleached bones & red clay pots,

their twitterings like a welcome breeze,

speaking of the old ways,

the eternity of blue sky & torrid sun,

circling around & around the unanswered questions –

"Why did the pre-Columbian Sinaquan Indians leave;

&, where did they go?"

Steve K. Bertrand

Primitive places –

this forgotten village with

no ghosts of the past.

Jogging the old highway,

past the cross for somebody

I never knew.

Winter –

perched in the bare birch,

puffed hawk.

That couple –

holding hands & smiling as they walk

down the street.

In the neighborhood

Little Library – packet of

Honey Bee mix seeds.

A puddled

farmer’s fallow field –

where geese gather.

Not a game –

fighting over seed at my feeder,

angry birds.

Winter –

withered corn maze

still standing.

Last thought

before his fatal motorcycle crash –

Fucked up.

That boy

in trouble – how he studies

his feet.

Tell me,

who walks past a quarter on the sidewalk

& leaves it?

The path

to the old fisherman’s cabin –

ground oyster shells.

Winter afternoon –

bird song

from a bare maple.

Emerging from

a crack in the sidewalk –

blackberry vine.

Night coming –

hummingbird draws his deepest

drink from my nectar feeder.

August afternoon –

frog & turtle watch

black bamboo grow.

Passing a man

on the sidewalk downtown –

smell