the morning I saw my first morels ....................................... NaPoWriMo2017 #8

image courtesy of MLive

it was birdsong-ed in silk and gold 
bare armed trees a Moon ago 
were now trembling 
with nascent green fingers, 
they were the milliard children of Ostara 
parade waving undulations 
in air thick with smells  
flicker warm feasts and  
tongues soon to bees 
curling traces paces 
of remnant evening 
felt pressing the fibers 
of old man once was 

the shadows from trees 
clock lengthened 
their bodies westward 
in long goodbyes 
like mothers sending their sons 
off to war and school, Love sometimes  
is something stretching with Hope 
impossibly chased 
by a rising Sun 
only to disappear back 
into the bark 
and limbs 
of forest sentinels 
leaving a few 
golden eggs behind 
the gifts of memory 
in scent's rise and return 

and in between 
last year's leaves 
these slow decayed riches 
rose, Zoetrope dawns   
and I see to crawl into them 
Spring and Summer 
sons and mothers 
and Autumn and Winter 
following each other  
they are never apart 
for very long 
with the music 
they play 
and the dances 
they lead 
like the gifts 
I found this morning 
after I did pray 
for my soul 
to keep 


EJR ©