FIVE

Years since last I'd done so,
I took leisure at leaning back against
the only remaining oak tree
left standing in front of my
grandmother's house.

I've often returned to this place
in hopes that her spirit might
somehow impart wisdom
unto me, whilst I stood
beneath the branches
which shielded me from
the sun of so many
youthful summers.

I took note that
the winter winds blowing my hair
across my face reminded me
of a passage I read
just hours before,
so I closed my eyes so that
I might have a few seconds
to take in the sensation
of being connected to
the author.

My pleasant musings were
interrupted by the sound of
dozens of geese flying overhead
in typical triangular formation.

Quilting was Grandmother's passion,
with the "goose triangle" being
the pattern she most liked
to utilize in her designs.

"Quilting is an artistic representation
of the relationship between
love and life, not just fabric and
thread; warming you from the
love put into each stitch, not the
heat generated by the covering
of the body," she wrote beneath
a colorfully decorated sketch of
a quilt she didn't live long
enough to complete.

As the geese passed without
taking note of my pleading
gaze, I whispered into the
chilled air "let the Dakinis
guide you," and hoped
Grandmother would
also pay heed to my request.

The sky cleared of the passing
birds and I waited still
for an answer. I noticed then
a lone goose circling widely
above me, left behind by
the others. I forgot for a
moment my want
for answers and instead
took pity upon the creature,
relating how I, too, often
felt lost in my solitary
travels.

Connectivity in experience
of both animal and man
is ever present, though
our eyes have been
blinded by our own conjectures
of dominion. Yet had
Grandmother often
directed my sight towards
proof that our
steps are in unison
with the movement
of the Earth and all of
its inhabitants.

I silently prayed then
that the abandoned
traveler would let
the winter sun
act as compass and direct
her towards those who
had long sense flew into
distances unseen.

Hearing then a single call
from the direction of the
deserting flock
came one single bird.

Her wings rising and
falling in what I
imagined was fueled
by both instinct
and divine purpose.

Both geese began circling
the area just above me
and i left the protection
of the familiar tree.

Stepping out into
the clearing, and with
voyeuristic view,
watched the dance of flight
between the two.

Only seconds fell away
as the birds came closer
together in flight.
Then, without sound
of call heard, the two
took leave into the
opposite direction of
the gaggle of geese
which now they were
separated, albeit
together, from.

I watched as they closely
raised wings and height
in unison,
in search of waters
and refuge and smiled
at having witnessed
their elopement.

After coupled minutes
elapsed, I walked back
towards the Oak, put
gloves in pocket, then
placed my fingertips
upon the bark and felt
a sense of peace in
knowing my answer
had been given.

If we are ever to find
the partner which
leads us safely to
water, who forgoes
the safety of that
which is the norm
just to ensure we
are not lonesome
nor without nourishment,
we must first allow
ourselves the freedom
to fly alone in deserted skies.

Faith that our wings
will not tire before
we are joined in flight
will grant us the pleasure
of feeling the warmth of
sunlight upon our backs
as the wind carries
us onward, if only
until the moment
when our companion,
at last,
arrives.