
Mist-ringed towers drifting
And the snow petal
Remember the forest Gods
From long before
Who ruled all lands then.
It was exactly
Very, very long ago
When
The rains buffeted
The clouds in the sky
And much has happened since –
Betrayal,
Forgetting,
Diminishing,
Lessening.
The bitter knife of the wind prods
The memory;
Only the great-horned owl recalls,
And his friends.
Those Gods have gone to far worlds – away
And often hid,
To universes little known –
And yet they are not far,
Still here, alone,
While winds obey,
Because there are no moments now,
No distance,
No separation,
No illusion,
Only the reality,
Only the howl, laughing,
Of the coyote
Whose fur shines white in the moonlight,
Whose awareness is keen,
Like the eyes of the star.
Perceptions of snow –
Past worlds, wooded, green
The one true past is here now –
In the pinecone
That whistles in the January
Wind and in the juncos and white-crowned sparrows,
Who hop within the whiffs
Of the snow flurry,
In the winds of gold that fly
From the setting sun that falls
Behind the cliffs.
Gone now, the noble cow,
Wandering home in the mists,
Eternal mists of snow,
Of times that were and are
And are again to be
When the Gods guard the way,
To protect the sacred, snow-enchanted day
In the deep forests,
Now and yet again and evermore.
***
By Sharon St Joan
© Copyright, Sharon St Joan, 2022
Please visit the website, https://forestvoicesofindia.com. You can sign up for the newsletter too!
Thank you very much, Cindy.
Beautiful!