Ten Deer Walking In January Rain* Poem by elysabeth faslund
Ten Deer Walking In January Rain*
Tonight. One deer crosses the third, field road.
Tonight. January sprinkles her footsteps in darkness.
It is midnight.
No challenge. Silence. Soft rain mists her eyes,
Rivels down eyelashes onto her lips.
She shakes away the drops, crosses well-known fields...
To the second road...
House lights. Street light.
Still no challenge.
Silence.
Tonight. A ceramic, Egyptian cat perches on my
Window sill, filled with bath crystals from India.
Shiva visited my home this morning.
A gold necklace glitters in the backyard light
Hung under the oak.
Rain on the tin roof, drops bead the glass panes...
Shattering refracted gleams from garnets,
Sapphires...rings on the arm of a pottery elf.
Christmas dances, sparkles.
Silence.
(How many times did I say the word, 'No'?
How many echoes from a sleeping wolf?)
Tonight. No moon. Tapestry-fog shrouds the
Field rows.
Five deer tip-step...following their leader's dance.
Out of the woods, to the third road.
One has gone before...the buck sees her
Tracks. Senses flame. Caution.
He halts.
Smells.
A predator scent...one day old. Silence. Lights.
No challenge. Odd.
New.
His five come abreast. Ghost-drift through green
Sprouts.
Tonight. Eagles and hawks are asleep.
Midnight.
Tonight. I bathe away Eternity. Set my hair for
Tomorrow. Victoria Magazine tomorrow.
Everything tomorrow.
Tonight...food for my animals. Quiet. Rain.
Cold air.
My bedroom window...a shadow plays.
Tonight...owls do not fly.
Tonight...raging winds. Leaves hang straight.
Tonight...Dorothy does not go home to Kansas.
Tonight...Mars falls into the Earth.
Shadow. The first deer halts beyond my backyard light.
Something. The wolf is not there.
Lifting, turning her head, she sees the buck, his group.
No challenge.
Midnight.
Three more, from the back woods, to the second road.
A fawn, prints no bigger than birth.
Tonight...ten deer cross the last field road behind the
House.
Tonight...January sprinkles their footprints in darkness.
There is no challenge.
Cold blackness.
Crack of a twig. There are shadows out my window,
Through soft rain unexpected.
My wolf...shaking away the drops, running with the deer.
Making, leaving...no prints.
Away from the light, away from my arms.
Into midnight.
Silence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/7/2024 5:51:27 AM # 1.0.0.1119
WOW! ! ! ... like reading 'The Buck IN The Snow' while looking in a mirror, seeing the Self, and the relationship / commonality of another reality ('Oh, poor deer! ' spoken without pity, a crumby double entendre) . Kali is somewhere, but not here tonight. There's a sense of quiet, security, contentment... and reflection - and bemused (somehow strangely sad) thoughts of whimsical possibilities past - but they are as fleeting as a bounding white tail vanishing into the night. And I wonder what rifle shot banished the wolf, and at what cost! Just letting go, the night fades to black, and, I should think, to dreams... such dreams. And as per the words suggestive of the morrow, 'The Sun Also Rises'. Such a dream. Such a poem! A twenty-reader, for sure - and I know that each read will tell just a bit more of a story, and peel back a microns worth of rice paper to show.... This is an awesome view... a most grand poem! .