Votive Offerings

Sweet springtime scents entice, enthrall
Last winter’s acorns, ground-fallen, abound
Dead brown leaves clutter the forest floor
The pungent smell of mildew wafts on a lazy breeze
Daffodils and squaw flowers thrust through the litter
Adding dabs of greens and yellows to dreary brown hues

Abruptly they came rushing and crushing through
Crisp leaves, the squirrel and his mate; twisting
Up and down, jumping around ancient
August oaks that clutch last fall’s leaves, Carefree
They rush about to play the sweet, seductive
Springtime ballet of catch and chase.
Are we so different? Our ancient ancestors also swung
To this beating drum.

When trees were red and gold with
Dreary skies slate gray, homebound to the
Forest, I sought you stewards of the trees
Only to find your sweet mate,
Dead, beside the road. Standing silent I became
A tree rooted in soft, dark soil; an icy breeze
Sliced though my soul while through bough and branch a
Fleeting touch of sun, soothed my head.

Unexpectedly, a magical realm opened as I
Watched you roll votive acorns purposely
One after another to her side.
Piled high, you leaned back sitting
On your haunches over her body a
Head bowed low – as minutes passed.
The silence itself was a prayer to
The Unknown and perhaps the Unknowable. While I
Was left to ponder – Who are we to say love
And grief are only human traits?

Copyright 2012

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