Log Cabin Chronicles



geeseLast Fall at twilight
I heard the sound of barking dogs
descending darkened hills
and envisioned gaping jaws draw closer
to some small defenseless prey.
Then looking up to fast blowing clouds
saw a distinctive vee
and realized I had heard
a hundred wild geese
rising from a hearty feast of corn
and winging due south.

In February I visited
my aging mother.
I sat on the floor
near her chair and we
shared a closeness embroidered
by a thousand memories:
"I am so glad you came"
"You know I always love
to see you."

Old stories flowed with words worn smooth as stones
I brushed her hair (grown long as when she was a child).

Mother and Child
hand and hand
racing up a wind-blown hill
like kites
to watch the geese fly by.

Mother cups her hands around
her mouth
and throwing back her head
calls to the geese
"Ah-oo ah-oo ahoo, ahoo, ahoo!"
Joining hands again they dance
around and around
until, exhausted, they fall into the knee-deep grass.

Sudden silence caused me to look:
her lovely face
now wet with tears
her shoulders shook
and now the child becomes the mother;
as I reached to enclose her in my arms
and say those things heard so long ago
"Don't worry, Dear,
everything will be fine."
Soft words of comfort to
keep barking dogs at bay.

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Copyright © 1996 Frances Bevency Errion/Log Cabin Chronicles/10.96