All the writing that wanted to come out of me this month (except for fiction) was this poem. Enjoy!
Finn and Rudy
The barren trees mourned
their once brazen autumnal hues,
dull leaves scattered on the field--
remnants of a rich life now in decay;
The lifeless sky with its frozen breeze stung the skin as I plodded
my way yet again through the rutted ’scape--
this season of death might have caused me to despair;
But the sudden scent of jasmine seized my senses
inviting me deeper into the sweet nectar of the impending spring.
Still adaze, I drifted down a different road
where a young boy named Finn asked me to play.
Willingly, I obliged,
into the center
of his spiraling labyrinth
composed of rosy chalk on
the grayest of asphalt—as surprising
as spying an old woman licking a raspberry
popsicle in the drizzling rain; winding my way
through, the energy maze dizzied me—it was so strong;
I arose as if from a vortex submerged unseen beneath a frenzied sea.
How did Finn know?
Just as I left that well-laid path, Rudy the she-dog ran to me
pressing her sinewy body gently against my thighs,
she invoked the ancient rite
of human-animal blessing, and I reverently placed
my hand on her head
caressing the raven dark fur
as we released our rough edges together.
Monica McDowell © 2012