Traveler walks like a moving tree,
like a wind-whisper, singing,
like the breath
of dawn.
Traveler is a
part of the landscape;
she carries with her
a corner of the sky.
Traveler rises
with the morning sun.
She is always walking towards
the next sunset.
There is the last star of morning
on her shoulder.
She wears the first star
of evening in her hair.
The moon is her mistress,
a songbird flies
from branch to branch
beside her,
and a wolf-shadow
companions
her every step.
A very old poem from the series of Traveler poems I wrote during NaPoWriMo in April 2011, shortly after Pup's death. That series of poems came from somewhere else. It was like taking dictation. That hasn't happened for a long while now. Sharing with earthweal's open link.
This is marvellous Sherry. I’ve just been reading some of your other Traveller poems too!
ReplyDeleteI don't think I have read this before. I love your Traveler poem. It is wonderful that she wears the stars, navigating her way through life.
ReplyDeleteA fine relic of a strong voice -- there is a peaceful groove to this, inbetween this life and its ghosts, making the daily rounds.
ReplyDeleteVery beautiful images in this Sherry. I remember that time and how eloquent and heartfelt were your words. Sorrow gives us a good crop, even when we are standing in the weeds that are left.
ReplyDeletethere is a purity about this, Sherry, that is both welcome and necessary ~
ReplyDelete