Monday, January 19, 2009
You follow the dawn… Eager and quick with energy, Heading for food and frolic After a night of snuggling In the hollow sycamore. You make your hurried way Through skeletal tree-tops. Leaping from limb to limb, Hurtling across breathless space. A fearless aerialist. Undaunted by icy branches Or iron-hard earth far below. Certain of your gymnastic skills. Little puffs of displaced snow Trickle down from the heights. A confetti of diamond dust To mark your swift passage. And then you’re there… In the tree near the food, And you pause—why? Fear? Shyness? After the Giddy path you’ve traveled? Is it a trust issue? A lack of faith? Or just thankful hesitation, A grace before your meal.