Saturday, September 27, 2014

One is No More, One is Not Yet

Perhaps alone here on the trail, the early morning sun is weak. Single strands of spider silk drift across trees. In a narrow passage the way is draped with silken threads and I feel them land gently across my face. Sorrow, outlined in silver light.

Maybe as I move carefully toward the clearing I stop to study you, uprooted tree – a tree reaching for sky, a sudden wind, your roots torn, the thud. I remember your face, and I feel I know you, but that you do not know me: a mere intruder spirited through the dawn from a dark realm of restless seeking. Looking for life, I find it here in your upturned root wad, now a perch for swallows.

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