Grief, Apprehended

The atmosphere is inclined toward
summer, the inexorable pull of one
season sliding into another. The
sere landscape escaping winter has
been altered for the ephemeral
nonce as poplars, willows, maples
and birch have re-discovered warmth
and finally the elm and the oaks
hawthorns and ash have emerged
with their living green bowers
shading the seasonal wild flowers
and the burgeoning bracken below.

The forest has been, again, reborn.
Demeter, hearking nature, has so
declared; her mourning in suspension,
her eternal damnation of the jewel-
filled ruby pomegranate set aside, as
all living creatures celebrate her
reasonable accommodation to the
loss that will, of necessity, strike us
all. The forest has become the cathedral
where we give praise to the power and
the glory of the presence of us all.

The celebrants are many and varied
from those of the earth and the sky
to those of tree-bound dependency.
A bluejay calls out in sharp attention,
as a robin sings interminably, beseeching
worms to make their early-day
appearance. Dragonflies in search of
their meals flash iridescent against
blooming honeysuckle and dogwood.