Horrocks Lady

Weeks later After I first strolled by in the February snow Strings of fruit Left out across the park For birds and all sorts of wonderful creatures And after I wrote a poem And speculated Who this mysterious park shepherd Might be In the unspoiled hunger of my mind and heart Feminine Giver of Life Was my hope I see her far ahead Yes I knew it A woman Though it’s hard to tell with all our winter burdens Wrapped around us from head to foot She wobbles in a tattered squall of snow Bent over a trail With a breadcrumb bag of apples and oranges Opened To her mittened hand Spreading stems and juice and sunflower seed In the winter With so few of us around We own this park and make our own rules Drawn From we the few souls Who have no need for words or direction From above Or below But only share the lonely air and wind Snowflakes I note she now has a long stick And way ahead Appears to be writing a message on the trail snow O SMILE I do Toward the end of our walks I catch up to her since she stops Often Like me Our existence is but nose chin and lips Protruding under our wool hats sunglasses Puffy coats Boots I like what you do I said Thank you “Just trying to get some people off their phones Find nature” She shrugs “Some people call me the Horrocks Lady” I hesitate then as usual But with little filter And desperate for the possible discovery of magic I reply I wrote a poem about you It wondered who you are “Thank you” she says and with that Gives me her bent back Reaches into her bag And sweeps the palm of her hand Atop the frozen ground As another snow squall separates us From our Or really My Momentary hold on reality.