You follow the dawn…
Eager and quick with energy,
Heading for food and frolic
After a night of snuggling
In the hollow sycamore.
You make your hurried way
Through skeletal tree-tops.
Leaping from limb to limb,
Hurtling across breathless space.
A fearless aerialist.
Undaunted by icy branches
Or iron-hard earth far below.
Certain of your gymnastic skills.
Little puffs of displaced snow
Trickle down from the heights.
A confetti of diamond dust
To mark your swift passage.
And then you’re there…
In the tree near the food,
And you pause—why?
Fear? Shyness? After the
Giddy path you’ve traveled?
Is it a trust issue?
A lack of faith?
Or just thankful hesitation,
A grace before your meal.