Thursday, October 08, 2009

Thursday Poem - Frost in Lanark

A crunching frost last evening in the highlands,
the lambent moon high above my old trees,
a sweet embracing darkness, and the
aurora borealis dancing over the hill,
October stillness flowing like an shadow
down the trail below the oak trees at twilight.

Winter stirs among the short days,
whispering of cold moons to come,
the rattling dry breath of long nights,
like these old bones that move creaking
through the brown grass, dead leaves and fallen twigs.

Patterns everywhere, and not of my making,
but the Old Wild Mother's weaving,
marbled stones, hoary branches, mottled leaves,
prints of wolf and deer along the trail,
puddles deep in the wooded hollows rimed with ice,
shreds of tattered birch bark blowing free.

There are ghost scents on the wind this evening,
of fresh turned earth and summer fields,
There are echoes of the wild geese going south,
the old rail fence creaking when I leaned on it at dusk in June.
"Rest now sister," it tells me in its hollow voice.
"Rest you now, for all things turn in time, and we,
like the seasons, must await the time of our tuning."

Catherine Kerr


Ann said...

Beautiful photo and poem, thank you so much for sharing.

Artiseternal said...

You write so expressively. Thanks for sharing.