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Oakwood Smoke

Dewdrop jewels adorn the berries
Golden waves reveal wind in the field
Fresh clean water refills the well
Forgiving sun warms moistened earth
Vibrant green shoots
Coat radiance on hills
Clear light infuses forest breath with live warmth
Evaporating dawn’s misty caress
As lush garden greenery emerges from shadow

Crisp little rustlings of foraging beaks
Crinkle through velvety silence
Mayhaps our longboatmen will hook us some fish
To grill over oak fire this evening
When maybe cider jugs in the creekbed will froth
With lively spirits for singing

May the Youngsters seeking sparkly rock treasures
On the beaches and in the clearings
Delight hide-and-seeking their imaginary friends
While we tend to the houses and the patching of clothes
To keep frosty rain from becoming surprise

In afternoon balm I’ll auger fluteholes
And string the guitars for serenading
Dusky appreciation into the night
As smooth river rocks in our fires swell heating
While we rim flaming centers with our circles of being

I might think back to recent times yet long ago
When the old world melted in the freezing drought
And burnt away in hopeless wars
Of taking all pushing everyone out
Till nothing and no one was left anymore
Each disappearing in private endings
To emerge from survival and gather as we few
Unknown to the others, in time to be
Alive together alone no more
Intimate strangers braided as tribe
By hidden streams of experience
Though of course they know nothing of you, my love
For we each keep sacred memories buried

Tomorrow I take Young Lad up Piney Meadows
To teach him about the bow
We’ll find pliant stalks for arrow shafts
And ready ourselves for the hunts to come
Young Lad only knows this new tribe life
And for that he is the better
Because it keeps young hearts pure
And young minds alert to aliveness
In time he’ll move off having borns of his own
As precious to him as mine were to me
By then I’ll be feeding my gone away tree
Returning my spirit to the forest

We old men and women must store up past thoughts
Mending the things through the seasons
And make savory scents that coil up in oak smoke
To fill tribal bellies with contentment,
Showing the Young without using words
That conduct is the temple of one’s presence
And our lives are life’s leaves
Meant to cycle as seasons
On and on as nourishment for each other.

9 December 2019

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