Walking with the Shadows

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A twig snaps under my foot, as I stop in mid-stride

a crow drops noisily on a large branch,

bouncing, looking, inspecting

my progress, while I let my foot down

gently. I stand remembering

the First People,

Crow, they were called

and that chief,

named Standing Bear. Shadows

moving through the trees,

leaving only feathers –

the crow hides quietly

this time on a taller branch,

perhaps there was a ghost

brushing

against the ferns.

I start walking again, silently

with shadows blending.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

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17 thoughts on “Walking with the Shadows

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