Poetry 19
(c) Candace
Out of the soft grey mists of the night
Emerging silently in the path ahead
Approaching on whisper soft feet
Intelligent eyes, a shadow silhouette
As the distance closes a form evolves
He walks up to me, eyes meet eyes
I return his gaze in silent communion
And he circles by, each watching the other
Near quickly as it began the moment is gone
He dissolves once more into the soft grey mist
Silent witness to the majesty of the moment
A memory that will long remain in my heart
As the sun rises revealing the mists between night and dawn
The ancient magics stir as the earth awakens turning to the sun
And the tears of morning dew are shed for those lost to time
And the sunrise stretches to signal that the new day has begun
The brook running in the meadow sings a song to the day
And the fluff of the dandelion stretches 'cross the bright sky
And the humming birds dance like a small feathered gems
And butterflies like a living rainbow go softly floating by
So rejoice in the lives that still are and the lives that will be
And morn the loss of every precious life that is now gone
But remember too those now called of legends and myths
Stand with mother earth for those now held in memory's song
Deep in the grey mists of morning
When the magic of night still lingers
Slowly drifting into distant memory
As the silver fog lifts revealing day
Hold on to the images in the dreams
Cling to the truths others cannot see
See the beauty hidden in the moment
Realize that each minute is a treasure
On the bank of the river in the peaceful place where travelers would stop to rest sat a small stand of flowering trees. Those who traveled through spoke to others of the beauty and tranquility of the place, marveled at the strength and size of the largest and the delicate beauty of the smallest saplings new from the spring. Some spoke in sad tones of the largest tree - feared that it was old and would one day be gone - for even trees have finite times - but the tree was strong and straight and held its place. For many years it remained the same at the rest stand. Early one spring people arrived and found the central space empty - in the night someone had cut the largest tree down leaving only an open space.
Over the spring and summer the stand faltered - struggled. The shade and shelter of the large tree gone, the mid-level trees burned in the harsh light. The caretakers worried but knew with tending and time the stronger ones would survive and begin to fill in providing shelter and shade. Sadly they knew that the weaker ones would likely be lost. Beneath the mid-layer was a tiny sapling and this one the knew would need the greatest amount of care - without the central tree to insure shade and space it might burn in the harsh light and lack space to reach toward the sky straight and tall.
The small stand was cared for by a single family - an elder father and his sons. The family lived a quiet life at the edge of the stand tending the trees and caring for their families. The spring the central tree was cut the elder father fell ill - too soon he was gone, some saying he was lost to grief for the tree and worry for the stand. He had instilled in each of his sons an abiding love for the stand and the earth - and they continued his work. But too much of his knowledge and wisdom they did not yet have - care for the stand was a struggle and the stand suffered as they fought to learn the lessons of the mother earth. Some gave up in dismay and left - though a few tried to honor the memory and the stand - and all felt the loss.
Quietly watching in her own sadness a small girl-child grew - she ached for a grandfather who year after year was more and more a ghostlike memory and yearned for the lessons only he could have shared.
