A Moment

The early morning scent of fresh greens
and damp river sand drift in on the
plump pillows of cool air 
which strokes the faces of the three deer as
they sail down the hill
single file
toward the valley,
the tall grasses ripple around
their chests
like ribbons . . .
shiny and silky,
the strands
twisting and turning as alive as
the breath-smoke
wafting from the nostrils
of the animals . . .
a nearby robin's rich melody is
like a feather stroking the ears
of all that listen,
and somewhere water drips and plops . . .
a sound gem
uplifting and sparkling from the distant trees . . .
which are growing like a hedge along the heights
and stretching up toward the
visions of blue through the clouds . . .
their branches bend beneath the weight
of air,
and the hawk bends low in his quest for something
to fit the belly of his baby
resting in the huge nest high atop the dead snag
whose silvered wood reflects the early morning sunlight,
and blackened resin
coating the holes on the sides
are visual groans in
memories aching from the bones of this long dead tree
standing solitary on the heights
looking out toward the valley,
and the breezes brush against
his dried leafless limbs
as the deer disappear into the shrubs on the valley floor.

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