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Anticipation I come in winter to sitby this icy stream.Snow whispers through the silence. Once we shared the peace of this placewith scents of pine and water,the tang of cold air. Deer cameto drink, taking our stillness for permission. I return every season. Alone,I remember small jokes we shared,poetry we read to one another.The deer still come, their long-legged,coltish grace a delight. Death is a room made of skywith a door invisible until opened.You wait for me there. Contemplation Trees snow-feathered.Rocks ice-rimmed.Pond dammed from the creek. A lone beaver glides the pondThree deer taste the water’s edge.A great owl wings into the woods. Upstream, still as silence,a cold-eyed heron waits. The beaver swims.The deer drink.The heron fishes. Deep in the woodsthe owl folds her wingsand sleeps, eyes open. Prayer Wheel Colored ribbons wave and rippleas the prayer wheel spins,sending supplicationsflying on the winds. A world away in your back yardthese prayers may come to rest.Walk gently through these dreamslying in your grass.
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