How Will We Know Where We Are?





Without the dead ash looming, we had lost our sense of where our drive is. Each time we missed, reversed, reminded ourselves to find a stump and a grand wood pile: that’s where we live.
The altered reference.
We are getting used to it.

Yesterday Storm Doris broke the legs of Lily Scare-the-Crow. Literally weather beaten!
Was this venting frustration, now storms cannot break branches from the chopped tree?

When Lily was our new scarecrow, we would reverse under precarious boughs, be startled by the  person in the rear view mirror, the flat wooden figure with the child-drawn face.
Now, after remembering where we live, we are startled to not find a face.

Lily has never scared a crow, nor lost her smile. She is, rakishly, propped in the lea of the lean-to.

‘What new times are these, Lily?’ I ask. ‘How will we know where we are?’
Ask your heart, she says (it’s what I hear).
And I think, that’s rich, when you don’t have one: but she’s never scared a crow, nor lost her smile.






Comments

Geo. said…
"Ask your heart, she says". There is a courageous wisdom in Lily that a brain would overcomplicate. She is lovely, even in disorder --a hero. Brava!
5 February 2017 at 10:56
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