By Chris Powici
as crows fly
in the dawn light
on the cold hill
the deer are running
the thud of their hooves
on the bed of the stream
is the drum that rocks
the roots of the birch
and the wind that shakes
the birch tree’s leaves
rain is their tribe song
rain is their robe
snow is the dust
of the bones of deer
falling to earth
and earth is the dark
deep silence of things
where you dream yourself
human, alive
watching the red deer running
on the wall of a cave
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Monday was very warm and pretty quiet around here. I did a bunch of writing in the morning, then laundry and some jewelry repair/repurposing in the afternoon -- fixing earrings, changing clasps on an old necklace to turn it into a mask strap and changing charms on mini goddess belts. We took a walk in the late afternoon when it was a bit cooler and saw several bunnies, though the frogs were hiding.
We had chicken picante with pineapple for dinner and I sent older son a replacement for a mug he broke. Evening involved Antiques Roadshow and a National Geographic show on Egyptian queens, plus posting a bunch of photos. Now I'm watching the end of Merlin's third season (in which Morgana finally reveals how evil she is and I can't even feel sorry for Uther, who deserves her even if no one else does). Deer by the canal:
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