In Fog

I held my coffee cup-

looked out the window.

A fog had blanketed the farm 

and covered the frozen grass.

I could not tell where the land ended

and the river began.

I looked out the window, in the distance

saw a doe and her two fawn.

They knew not of my glance.

But yet they arched and listened.

Mother Nature told them

I was there. 

Here.

In the present. Now.

The fawn ran through the fog

toward their mother.

They leaped in arches and passes.

in arches and passes.

Like dolphins leaping

out of the ocean.

Toward the sun.

Toward the light.

I told you this,

as you lay dying.

Of the cancer

that killed your husband.

And your eyes glinted

And you smiled.

For a moment you smiled.

And forgot the cancer.

The same cancer

That killed your husband.

And you moved

Toward the sun.

Toward the light.

(I wrote this in a fit of nostalgia, for 15 minutes on November 9, 2014, from 12:00 - 12:15, for Margaret Miller, my Marietta mom, who took me under her wing when I began my life in Georgia as a teacher.) The Spirits are moving me today.