One Last Search

by O'Hara

I came to the stream, not having wandered here since mid-winter. Among spring’s green-up and dainty white flowers stands three piles of carnage. The mass graves are the man-made thinnings of the valley bottom. Mostly leafless ash and maple trees. Some brush. My eye is drawn to the second heap, wherein a straight sapling lay. Tight, dull golden bark. Straight, sturdy trunk about seven feet long with a root ball the size of my two fists put together.

through the leafy boughs
of ancestors grand, the wind –
come away with me

Though it cannot leaf, the mulberry sapling has seen many seasons standing straight into the skies. My constant companion on my journey with this earth, the paths under trees and along streams. A crack has developed on it’s bottom from the many times it has hit rocky stream beds, or dimpling the earth as it steadies descents down hills. It crosses my mind to preserve it now. The thought to carve my name in ogham along the side comes to me and is quickly replaced with, “Carve it’s name in ogham.” One last search with old faithful.

touch the earth and sky
again, once more –
an old man listens

staff amorels

Joseph Casey, ©2013.