Her Anger Rests
Dawn creeps over the horizon,
bright beams waking the furry creatures
from their woodland slumber,
and drying out the mushrooms
stretching through the pine needle copse.
Vocal thrushes roust the stragglers,
the warblers on high alert.
Wild blueberry bushes host breakfast for squirrels and barrel cheeked chipmunks, busy bickering over their seating arrangements.
She walks through, jovial and almost
skipping, her long auburn hair waving behind her like the mane of a mare. She's humming and the woodpeckers approve. Seeing her this way is a gift.
A welcomed respite from her bouts with rage.
Her basket full of wild blackberry, red and black raspberry, she turns with tears forming in her dark brown eyes.
I know better not to dive too deeply in these waters, so, I smile and take her hand.
The owls ask for our identities but we push on. The trail widens here, no longer a secret, becoming more like a path.
We've been here before but seldom make it this far. Her fits have usually rescheduled the day's agenda, by now.
Back at the road used mainly by the logging industry, we turn right and circle back to the cabin, slowly diminishing the day's bounty as we go. A dose of milk brown coffee will please her and help her to rest, she being the solitary human I know that can sleep after a cup of joe. I will join her, then brush her hair in long strokes until she lays her head on the pillow and closes her eyes. The midday sun will keep her warm while she rests on the antique love seat, accompanied by her madness, for it is ever present and lurking.
But, today is a good day and I am most grateful. Today, the crockery and glassware are safe. Today, the raccoons and opossum will not scurry away frightened by her voluminous anger.
Today, she will rest and, thankfully, so will I.
BLT
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