My mind treads ancient verses
and questions unasked swirl around me,
my thoughts as elliptic as the russet leaves
that I take communion with
srrendering under foot.
A glacial breeze bears pairs of Canada geese
onward to more temperate climates,
over countless obstacles determined to
break the bond they forged for life.
How many lonely mates return
year after year, over the very place
their beloved fell,
only to risk the same fate?
Instinct braids them back to ancient times
and migratory obligation.
“Trout shall turn in a pool,
and a storm shall gather.”