Some years ago, my mind in tumult,
I came to you,
and you bowed,
or was it a curtsy?
Dressed in green (or was it gold?)
your nimble limbs swept toward me
when there was no breath of wind,
beckoning and offering blessing
in your wordless way.
The winter woods around you are seldom silent,
usually filled with chips and twitters,
unmelodious whistles, squeaks and squawks.
But today there is music -
the single, lilting phrase of a hermit thrush,
promise of hope for what is beyond
this frozen moment,
promise for the future.
On this end-of-year solstice morning
I have come seeking you.
Clothed in soft-browns and silver,
limbs stiffened in the cold,
you move less easily now.
And yet, again I have come.
I have come for your benediction.
I have come to say goodbye.