.
Where’s your dance, old tree?
The music blows,
let’s see you sway,
I long to hear
your rustling green.
Did winter tighten up your knots
and sap your limbs so soon?
What’s this?
It seems Pan left you
tail tucked between his legs
when he saw the horizon
turning black
instead of blue.
And now I too
must hurry off
to find my cave and pray
that the dawn
will turn our mourning
into day.
.
(c) 1980, 2014 Betty Hayes Albright
.
.Written in March, 1980 – two months before Mt. St. Helens erupted, on May 18th. A premonition, perhaps….
57 people were killed, including my close friend Barbara Pierce Seibold.
Seasonings 