Sunday, August 22, 2010

Over the Hill She Came

Over the hill she came, her long legs very scarcely

touching the ground, the cups of her ears listening, with obvious pleasure,

to the wind as it stroked the dark arms of the pines;

once or twice she lingered and browsed some moist patch

of half-wrapped leaves, then came along to where I was-or nearly-

and then, among the thousand bodies of the trees, their splashes of light and their shadows, she was gone;

and I, who was heave that day with thoughts as small as my whole life would ever be, and especially

compared to the thousand shining trees, gave thanks to whatever sent her in my direction that I might see, and strive to be,

as clearly she was, beyond sorrow, soft-lipped angel walking on air.

I see a deer coming over the hill and imagine her internal dialog, perhaps expressed as brain firings of emotions, images, and memories.

"Oh there is a human there, so peaceful there, so safe, so centered. I wish I could be like her, but I am full of sorrow. My mate was taken by a hunter last year, my sister died of tuberculosis, and my fawn never made it across that country road. There is plenty to eat this day, but that last winter I really wanted to just curl up in the snow and join my family in the Great Forest in the Sky. But now I look up to that sky, and although I cannot see the reasons for such great suffering, I do see my cousin the trees who offer me shade and my brother sun who warms my back in the early morning hours. If I could but write, as does this poet, I would share with the world the love that grows in my heart, though the winds of time threaten to take the memories of those I have cuddled within the thicket from me. Let the wind come then, and may I fly upon it, leaving behind for a moment the loss and the pain. Perhaps she'll write of our encounter and guide the world towards the joy that comes when we each strive to be the other and share our gifts. She writes, I pine, and together we go beyond sorrow."

What helps you go beyond sorrow?

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