Tumbling in the Sand
I went walking this morning
The air hung heavy with moisture
As the winter lets go
And the rain softly falls
So that the beech leaves—shaking at the slightest breeze—
The eerie – white – yellow leaves
have begun to fall
And I smile,
think how much they remind me of feathers
—angel feathers, it strikes me today,
and I take out my phone to take a picture
of the golden-veined feather-leaves
resting in footprints in the snow.
I take a path tread out by others into the middle
of the labyrinth
The center moon-gate too compelling to ignore.
Standing there, I look up.
perhaps too strong a word for the silent ache in my heart.
“Why does my soul always seem so sore?”
the question arising from the mists around me
“Maybe because it’s tender, Lena,”
comes a response.
“Right,” I laugh …
“Tender enough to notice the tracings of angels in the snow.”
The smell of wood smoke and pine mingle
rising to my senses like incense
My stomach thinking about a meal.