Prophecy

The trees, draped in mist-shawls,
are waiting.
Bear, curled into the root
of Grandfather Cedar,
dreams of fish and berry.
Wolf, fleet and shimmering,
pads the forest floor, shape-shifter,
traveler from the time of the ancients,
who knew how to live with the wild.

On the jagged branch of a crag,
Owl surveys  her domain through yellow eyes:
messenger from the otherworld,
oracle, harbinger, soothsayer,
feathered prophet.
She waves her feathery wing.

Eagle, raven, wolf stop still
and listen.
The spirits of the ancient ones
draw near.

Owl speaks once, and then falls silent.

The animals look at each other
with sad, knowing eyes.
They have been given a message
about the Two-Leggeds that pains them.

There will be death, destruction.
Their fates are intertwined.
One day all the shining souls
of  forest and city
will rise, a misty vapor
along the singing river,
and the world will
begin again.


Am sharing this with the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.