BIRD ON THE WING

Cloudy days appear bereft of shadows,

Smudged castoffs that tell time,

Litter the forest floor, and

Leave patterns adrift.

Shade eclipses as much earth as

There are objects on it to capture sunlight

And block it from revealing another side.

All matter loses detail and dons silhouettes,

Larger and more abstract than the original,

They curl up and wrap around like a gray-black fur.

Repeating shadows seem like objects themselves,

Long translucent columns shed by the loblollies at dawn

Break apart the early light and stretch toward the west,

Like fingers spread out to touch the earth

To sense its round shape and carry a message

For each root, limb, branch, and needle

There must be signs of time for

The grip of the sun has a firm hold.

There is a sudden burst of shadow that

Trails across the moss, dead leaves and fallen pine needles,

And I know that it is a bird on the wing,

And I know that I saw a shadow of the past,

That was a shadow of the clouds.

 © cmheuer, 2013