Rite of Passage
Rite Of Passage
*
My Walk to Remember
My father takes my hand,
tucks it in the crook of his arm
and smiles at me as we walk through
the old pasture that has been transformed
into an outdoor chapel
Tears roll down his face
with each paced step we take,
towards the alter, the pastor
And the hopeful face of my
of my husband to be
His grip tightens on my hand
as the congregation stands
and all eyes turn towards our progression
as the clouds give way to the
warming April sun.
I recall the pungent, smoky scent of
the tanned buckskins we wore,
see the blue cone of the tepee with
lodge poles reaching towards the pale blue sky
the red and white bunting my sister
so carefully wrapped around the fence posts
My Beloved’s eyes shining with
promise, hope and love
and the Indian flute music that
drifted on the tangy spring air
marking my rite of passage from
Daughter to Wife.
Copyright © Trudy Diane Rider | Year Posted 2009
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