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Fountain of YouthFountain of YouthFountain of Youth
She stumbles through the cold, half-perished, numb, the shift of weight and bend of knee to free each foot in turn laborious; no rote and fluid motion bears her toward a goal. No goal exists except this need to move, repeat accustomed patterns, lest fatigue convince her to succumb at last, to cease.
A plume of steam that swirls above the crest
becomes a magnet drawing her toward warmth though muscles ache and tremble. Summit gained,
she stops to scan a slope where pungent sweat
flows from the pores of earth through channels lined
by ~raphaela67
Crickets KnowCrickets KnowCrickets Know
The crickets' song is slowed tonight.
Their dirge for summer drags alto feet
through cooling air.
Wearied of Summer's descant,
they chant of rest, of endings. Autumn spins closer,
curving down the arc of earth.
Crickets know. Unable to flee,
they mourn the retreating sun. For them,
no Spring returns, no haven waits.
by ~raphaela67
Willow ShadeWILLOW SHADE E. M. Purdy, 8/9/21 – 7/20/97Willow Shade
Suddenly grown frail, you suffer us to lift you from the bed that sprouted, mushroom-like, in the family room to meet your need.
Settled on the wheelchair’s pillowed seat, you wait as we cushion your palsied arm that once beat cakes by hand and painted tiles with butterflies and pansies. We wrap your legs in a crocheted cocoon for the slow journey around the house to the backyard and willow’s shade.
On the late-June breeze, faint fragrance drifts from wiry vines that tangle the bank
by ~raphaela67
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