Wild Things


         Wild Things

Do wild things know grief?
Are they familiar with the path of pain and fear?
A startled rabbit might bolt into the thicket;
A deer might wheeze and snort,
Leaving her nemesis with bounding blur of white.

Do they know loss?

Does the tree resent her shedding of color,
To soon be exposed to the cold of winter?
Decay and disappointment covers all of our geography;
It’s an  indiscriminate blanket, covering us thoughtlessly.

Nature groans to the passing of planets, and the marching of men.
Bones and briars, stumps and stars are reminders,
Of distance and death; fragility and breath.

We plod on.

Do the wild things know or are they immune to time?
While trees are moved only by death or nature,
Time is their friend, giving them rings of strength.
Man stumbles and falls as the leaves of autumn.
Crying and boasting we bemoan the crack,
The perilous fissure in the disorder of things.

The courses of temporal movement feed our longings for goodness.
“Mercy!” We cry to a god we say is there.

An answer as clear as the babbling of the creek,
Or the music of the wind.

We find rest amidst this haze…

“Truly I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”


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