Bearing Witness
On days like this, it turns dark
too early, heat leaching from brick
by degrees as night sinks into bone.
This particular day, at the stub end of autumn,
the forest stubbornly clings to yellow leaves
and mud sucks at my shoes,
as I walk up from the woods,
from wind and branch
to sun and cloud
and turn left
at the bridge toward home.
I remember we planted trees once
in the black soil of our back yard,
and we didn’t know
what would happen next:
our gorgeous pact.
~
The promise of spring
is that it comes to everyone.
The seeds we throw into the world
will do what they must,
reaching insistently
into the sky, limbs outstretched,
forever hopeful,
and the rising sun
will shower them
with joy and heartache
and oh,
it will all be so beautiful,
and one of many reasons
we are here together, after all
is to bear witness.