May is a month of dying
into the flaming fire,
the white heat of spring.
You circle overhead
as the Hawk does in my dreams…
Broad russet wings and tail,
a golden eye
piercing illusions
of separateness
intertwining the two –
Winter and Summer-
Both, Cycles of Becoming.
May is a month of dying
into the flaming fire,
the white heat of spring.
Bittersweet orange heat
and bleached blue sky
bend olive trees
with thorns, as leaves unfurl
casting sage green
shadows over
serpentine waters.
Willows glow –
burnishing gold wands
at dusk.
May is a month of dying
into the flaming fire,
the white heat of spring.
Communing underground
thirsty cottonwoods
gulp much needed water,
give thanks for
Red Willow River
as do I.
May is a month of dying
into the flaming fire,
the white heat of spring.
If only rain would come,
these mighty trees
with elephantine arms
would surely
drop pendulous russet flowers,
uncurl scalloped leaves
inviting us to sit awhile
under rough textured bark
to reflect upon this canopy
woven out of supple hearts.
May is a month of dying
into the flaming fire,
the white heat of spring.
Secrets are revealed
among arching tree boughs,
trunks, roots, and fungi,
truths we cannot bear to hear.
Dying into life
is a message
we need to feel.
(Meet Mago Contributor) Sara Wright.