Oastler In October
Ostler in October
silent we drift
beneath the march of pines
toward the shore.
needles dry underfoot
each step scented like
grandma’s closet.
heady with freedom
laughter erupts spontaneously
mundane time loses its grip.
by the lake we
murmur, as water on pebbles
heads together
soft words remove all
of the stings of life;
soothing ears, hearts
battered and sore.
all the while we move
in a slow procession of
letting go.
cross dinosaur’s back,
grey ancient rock rising
above the forest floor
smooth as prehistoric skin
we wonder at the images
it feeds our care freed minds.
climb to the rough granite ridge
above a small inlet
marvel at a spirit rock
rising out of the dark waters.
we study its mottled surface
to find the ogres, the fairy maid
a white snake flows up to the crest
faces of elders peer back.
they have never let us down
keep watch for our return.
across the unmoving pool
one young sugar maple displays
its fall uniform proudly
as it honours the magic it guards.
life is returned to us here;
profound silences pull
mediocrity from thought,
clarity blossoms, fruits
poetry spills from our pores
words are scribbled on napkins.
this late in the year
each camp is an island
blessed sound travels
with respect touching but not
intruding upon free souls.
we are barely aware.
Copyright © Patricia Cresswell | Year Posted 2017
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