She hides in plain sight,
her brown blending
with earth...suddenly not so horizontal.
it is only because I stop to attend to my own nature,
that she appears at all…
which begs the question…
what else did I miss on my journey?
it is a question few ask until that rugged edge of time-
passing into an unplanned quadrant-
suddenly without a spouse, without a plan, without a head of hair.
somewhere between someone’s somewhere, and someone's nowhere.
on a road regularly driven in the center, to avoid wandering off
to fall precipitously hundreds of feet below
an unexplainable statistic
for this unfortunate soul, nature was kind to her
to cover her with creeping vines, soft leaves, and soft moss
where one can genuflect the vacancy marked by a cross.
For thou art more neath round yonder sun
Thou art more than dust and roses
Thou are the reflection of a Creator
Though thy bones rot beneath the sod.
No comments:
Post a Comment