I hold fast to my walking
stick as I leave
the beaten path to follow
my own trail
Into only partially familiar woods.
There is a part of me that
Here, within the gloom of autumn
or later, the promise of spring
Tilt back my head
Shake my mane and
Sniff the air.
I crouch beside the creek flowing here, simple and without a care.
A glimpse of a whitetail yearling
Frozen in the tangled underbrush
The soft call the cardinal sings to his mate
The reflection of us all in the stream
In this late November dawn
They did not know
when they brushed their teeth and washed their Sunday morning faces …
To join with their friends in worship
To be in a house of the Lord
As they filed into their small white
unassuming, country church
greeting each other with smiles on a bright Central Texas day
Men shaking hands
Women nodding to one
another or hugging
Maybe slipping recipes to a neighbor
before worship service was called
By the organist's opening notes.
Teenagers cast glances at their friends in other pews and innocent smiles…
No, they did not know
as they gathered together this day,
a monster lingered near.
5 November 2017
"Your hair is like mums,"
Words murmured fifty years past
Today, mums remind.
15 October 2017
I miss the freedoms we knew/
When we were still young/
Scales covered our eyes.
© Nancilynn Saylor
12 0ctober 2017
Warnings always came in whispers
Whispered warning signs of dread
Breathed in silence in my head
I still hear the silent screams in restless nightmares of my dreams
Mother’s whispers through the mist
Across eternities abyss
Chinese symbols for the word whisper.