Jack the Hunter

As the swallows gather on telephone wires
I wake out of my summer slumber
and start to trace the lines of the breeze
while I drift among the trees
cupping the leaves within my hands
I  breathing on them
turning this one red and that one yellow
they remain a while glowing in autumn sun .

 

When they start to fall
my shadow stalks
in twilight airs
careful not to step too heavily
on rain-sodden ground
I linger amongst the  bare trees
wary I listen
caressing  the grass
til each blade is outlined in white
waiting until the ground is quiet
and then on a clear night
I fall.
White traceries mark
my touch down
but seeking
the  resting place
of the dew waters
I dive deeper,
until I have
the earth
in my grip.

 

This poem I published in  “Scissors, Paper, Shadow, Stone” a collection of prose and poetry from Broomspring Writers in 2012

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