When Great Trees Fall

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
gnaws on kind words
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

Maya Angelou

Gang of Strays

Frozen cotton-balls dancing a high-wire act.

Embracing the winds with a buoyant tact.

A novice would start mid sentence or with bleak inquiry…

‘How did I get here?’

A well-trained friend would have run out in-spite inclement weather…drawing near.

Above all else I am now…

reticent to my friends needs.

365 days of good luck and manageable health.

I disregard…humid mud and stinging sleet.

We are… house trained and tend to the inclusive side of the tracks.

Elite gang members.

A pack whose motto calls nature’s bluff,

‘No need to look for trouble.

Trouble will find us soon enough!’

During raw walks with my backwoods dog; Life acquires new perspective and all that had surrounded it, seems irrelevant and needy.