A Poem a Day (620): For Leland Hermit

 
For Leland
 
We enter the silence of never forgetting,
listen to the murmurations of a lost few
spiralling high in this languid, shivering air,
the cirrus strewn like white cotton sheets.
 
Here, we contemplate the misty curve of morn
rousing life out of night, our shadows lengthening,
teasing us that they know the way. But only we know.
This is where nature absorbs us, draws us in.
 
I watch you scatter, track nature’s scents from miles off,
a skill I can only dream of. An emerald lizard darts.
You ferret deep into the spiky undergrowth,
digging down this dry desert, coming up twigs.
 
These trails we spirit down take me back some days,
hiking past our guards, these purple-blue mountains,
jagged peaks fogged out, streams of misted white light,
and without a care we pass by the ghosts of yesterday.
 
Low hums catch on the drafts, silk petals turn sunward.
Our paths never cross with any other human being.
This is a kind of freedom, this sweet eclipsing
of the glass-brick-grey city with its petrol choke,
 
And in this yellow, green, sienna-dusted viesta
we walk as one, legs bumping legs bumping legs,
our breath blowing clouds to mix in the air,
as if we are a doodled, made-up faery creature.
 
As high as we are, the opening skies seem lower,
as if seeking to reach down to bathe our heads.
Absent, we traipse this stone-worn curl of path,
knowing by heart its myriad twisted ways.
 
In the end, you inevitably take the onward lead,
as though you are the parent and I am the child,
protecting me. You wag your tail and turn your head,
beckon me to follow as far as we can see.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, February 16/17, 2024