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

The Cold Rain and the Wild Wind

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The cold rains and wild winds of March, came bursting into the forest

early this year, moving the pine trees, swaying the tall branches,

and yet we know the spring is just waiting to launch

the daffodils and to encourage our hearts

that the earth is born again,

as winter loses its grip

on us.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies