Button clad agaric caution hosts the greenest compliments the mosses know to braille brush the aspen’s whispers … with surest harmony found beneath the courageous first ice to die in Spring’s frail hands … the steam of your tea pot, bath, and clinging window vapors … The forest path urged me to gain all I could from the shadows and stem of tree tailored light … I nodded not wanting to break your silence.
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The stars spoke saying,”We are the constant, the spark of dark flame within your illumination. You are the path we guide our birthing by.”
I know it to be truth for your warmth wrapped about me, the quilt of eastern breezes, and I was held in an eternal womb of your vibrant sky dust.
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Art Credit: Tomasz Alen Kopera
Now is the briefest passage of the gloaming light … mustard flecked goblin suspensions of Spirit’s absinthe carpet between worlds … mosaic cedar peridot shadows cast craving capillaries to crest upon ethereal shores … we wait … our nakedness hidden behind the frail coats of the illuminated unkindness of Winter … it is not yet ready to trade our smiles for the warmth Pangea may measure with both sunlight and the breath of the stars in their ecstatic chants to Baba … the forest is brief in its mating … all above and below tis sacred glow revealed as it once was … not as we made it so … bark and branch as kindred kings carrying lark, lichen, moss, and lamp likened skies of pure pervading glory … in the turning cast, the evening’s shadow, fauns a delicate blanket of faery tales yet unwritten … lovers await the deepening safety, the negral of night … to taste the darkness of surrender’s kiss …
My arrival at home that day had been too late. I could see it when my eyes met my Mothers. I dropped my shopping bags and asked, “Where?” It was Gertrude. She wouldn’t get up. As I approached, calling her name, she raised her head mouth gapping open in her mute state. Anxiously, she rose and stumbled towards me falling again on her limp body’s forgotten fullness. I lifted her assuring us both. “I am here now, baby” leaning in she held me with the reply “I waited for you, Mama. I waited hard.”
There was no use at this point to attempt to save her. It was an understanding too bitter to taste yet, it rose up in my mouth repugnant. There remained only a few moments to hold her and be at one with her beauty. She was concerned for the others. I promised I would help Hildegard with them and with this her final breaths clawed their way through eternity as her green legs kicked in defiance of death.
Our time was indeed short. Our bonds broken by forces neither of us knew how to combat except to hold our hearts closely as she passed from warmth into the darkness. We walked together until reaching the light again. Then, Gertrude flew into the haven of the Summerland. I made my way back through the shades alone and prepared her vessel for burial.
As I sewed the shroud of silk about her still warm corpse, I could feel the majesty of her noble self come alive deep within me. It was a new blessing, a precious gift I melded to my heart’s awareness. I only had salt tears to send with her into the grave. Each night when I go out to feed, I see how readily Hildegard has come to adopt the role of Mother Hen. This brood of odd foul run under her as she did beneath Gertrude. We offer feed to the air and water to the Earth for her each morning and night. I believe she would be proud of how we’ve made sure they all came along so well. Louise laid her first egg only yesterday. I feel it as a sign from my beautiful girl all is well just beyond the shadows of these veils.
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