Untitled

If she were a bird,
edges of her feathers frayed,
colors vibrant no more,
song barely audible,
the spring in her step a memory,
she would remember her nest, once full,
with the beaks tirelessly begging
and she lovingly bringing bounty of the season.
The nest is falling apart now.
The straw holds it together barely.
The adhesion of love surrounding the nest
may still be strong,
but not stronger than time.
Her male doesn't keep out intruders;
but waits with her
singing a mournful song,
waiting for the end of days.
Some seasons bring a note or two
floating in,
that tells them the younglings
once nestled in the nest
have their own now.
If she were a bird,
she wouldn't reflect,
but unknowingly accept
that what once was green
would turn grey
and then dust.
What is sad is also inevitable.

If she were a wolf,
she would remember
the joyous hunts
with the soft forest giving way,
the promise of prey's soft flesh
rushing her on,
with her alpha by her side.
Warmth of the prey's blood
would sate her thirst,
nourishment from the flesh
would fill her belly
and make her want to return to the muddy den
where young pups waited in ignorant impatience.
She brought food in her mouth.
She brought drink in her breasts.
She watched the pups turn into
sturdy wolves themselves.
She would remember
and her alpha, an alpha no longer,
would rest by her side,
with the ache of time in their bones.
If she were a wolf,
she wouldn't reflect
but know by instinct,
that pups leave,
jaws weaken,
joints ache,
fur fades,
eyes dim.
She would know
that what once was green
would turn grey
and then dust.
What is inevitable is also sad.

_____

Posted just before I left the rubble of a city, for the embrace of greenness.