the angel of roadways and forest paths

Sweet face of an Angel

A string of paths criss-cross the winter meadow-
tracks of fox and deer
prove the passage of time under the moon.
But this morning,
it’s the small dog and me,
up at dawn,
moving quietly on our morning walk.

I woke from a dream of you,
the smell of hot asphalt
and stale truck stop coffee lingered
as did the sound of your voice,
laced with gravel and cigarettes,
and the twinkle in your blue eyes,
set in the well lined map,
all the roads traveled in your long life.

Hurrying toward home,
the small dog and I,
fog drenched,
walk up the forest path.
The smell of hot coffee greets us
at the end of the road.

I lie awake

Autumn on the lake

I lie awake-
bits of remembered melody
drift in the morning breeze,
old hymns of redemption
and loss.

I lie awake-
whispers of ghosts and angels
walking the deep green forested paths.
Across the water I hear their murmuring,
I wait for the fall.

I lie awake-
scent filled breeze
brings the smell of ripened grain,
sweet grass and damp leaf mold.
I wait for the season’s change.

I lie awake-
a fallow field
after the year of jubilee-
debts forgiven and begging no longer-
I wait for the autumn rains.

Fear Not

Angel of Bluebirds

Fear Not

My footsteps, muffled in the frigid morning,
break the icy crust
of the nights snow.

I scatter offerings to the winged creatures
as they perch in the fragrant evergreen boughs-
with bright eyes, they watch me.

As I turn to go back in the warm house,
celestial voices are lifted in song
and the sound of wings echo in the air.

His voice on the phone
sounds strong
and brave.
The stem cell transplant
is scheduled
for the new year
with word
that an angel will appear
to watch over him-

fear not.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings… Luke 2:10

*** This was written several years ago before my brothers stem cell transplant. He continues to do well, is still in a chemo routine that will be a part of his life, but he is living his life without fear.

Buttermilk Sky

Feb morning sky

Buttermilk Sky

The bright winter sky is dappled with high clouds
The color of butter.
The light and shadow play across the landscape,
Light then dark,
Then light.

A dark shadow comes across my brow
And the grief returns to my heart.
Though our lintel was marked
With lambs blood,
Blessed with prayer,
Adorned with mirrors,
The dark angel still came.
Her beauty, awful,
As she sat at our table
And the losses became un-countable.
I wonder still when she will return,
Because, oh yes, she will return.
Or perhaps, she is just
Sitting on my porch step
Waiting for another shadow to form.

My face again is in sunlight-
The dappled clouds moving away from the sun,
Casting shadows on the winter landscape
Bright in the buttermilk sky.