A Visitor
Moonlight creeps through the writhing woodland as
Arion walks alongside me—upward toward the lone mountain.
We had trekked for miles and the way was wearisome,
heavy fog in its obscuring fidelity stalking our every step.
Winds shrieked around us like dissonant flutes—
high pitched, fortissimo screams that died in
and died out dismally.
They reminded me of my own undulating doubts
manifesting into fits of malignant mess—
but the steady sound of our unified steps
soothed my panicking heart—tears flower
my eyes, dropping like dew.
Soon—as many storms do—
the winds died away along with my fears.
That is when the mockingbird
began to stridently trill in the distance,
its venting variations vaguely familiar.
Arion and I stopped in a flat clearing, stunned by its clarity,
listening intently to her songs.
Timelessness touched the forest
as melodies touched our hearts.
When her trills ceased, I first witnessed
the tears of my loyal companion.
Somehow, they made him younger and freer.
Excitement sprouted from his eyes
like wildflowers witnessing their first dawn.
He wiped the tears away with his sleeve
and beamed like a sunrise.
“For just one moment—one moment,
she sounded like my mother,” he stammered.
I grasped his hands and held them to my heart.
Arion looked up to the sky, above the circle of trees,
as if he recognized a face in the midnight expanse.
We made a camp and settled silently in the clearing.
The last thing we remember before closing our eyes
was the overhead flutter of shadowed wings
and a gentle sigh beyond the pines.
(note: this is the third part of an epic about Arion I shared a while ago. The first and second pieces are “Little Glistening Salmon” and “Ocarina Steps”)
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