My Friend, Brigit

In me there is a tried and true reflection of the Green the black, the forest, the damp leaves and the rain in winter. Everyday in the evening, when the dawn breaks- I walk the animal trails to see who came at night, in the dark to eat the corn, the moss, the grass. A stag and three does come every Thursday. I leave carrots, and bones, and roots, and acorns- at dusk- in the morning, forage the wild boars mother and her newborns, with large bullish horns- under the old oaks, abundant in thorn, and ash. I had a dream I sat beneath the moon-tide at noon and Brigit, my bright friend, again was near and dear- We grew up like sisters and parted as such too soon. I see her now once a week; Aye, see and hear how to Know if one's weak know and if one's strong and now how to write one's wronged wrong. Send her a message: Ev re:one needs a better, half recalled. A friend in deed, she comes to console: A shoulder to laugh on, a story already told.