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The First Wash of Rain

The first wash of rain on the fresh-plowed field,

Made sunlight shimmer from a stone,

Which the farm boy held, opening the door

To a time beyond history known.

An image appeared of forest and glen,

Of animals and peoples long gone,

But through the touch of the stone

They came again, and it was rising dawn.

A whisper in the air was the only sound

That told of the fleeting arrow,

The great elk raised an ear and took the flint

Through flesh, deep in bone, then to marrow.

The stag held his head high and suppressed a cry,

Giving a great and tragic bellow.

It was a sound so strong- a tragic, pain-filled song-

That it stirred the herd in the meadow.

Then, there, the Great elk fell

And no other sound was heard,

Save a shriek from above that scattered the doves,

By a witness, the King of all Birds.

The hunter came forth and gave respect to the beast

With the smoke from a cedar bark fire,

Then prepared portions that would become the feast

For his village, its sustenance  need so dire.

He would save the arrow, but mark the spot

With the sharp-edged stone that brought death,

To celebrate the life of the great fallen elk

And remember where it took a last breath.

The farm-boy awoke from the daydream journey

And placed the stone in the pocket of his pants,

Then continued his work with respect for the Earth,

And ancient people, great beasts, and simple plants.  

 ********

It Is Written In Heaven

Where am I going, what shall I see?

Where have I been, where should I be?

These are the questions

I ask every day,

Never an answer and still I do pray,

For directions and purpose

And reasons to live.

If only I had someone

And something to give.

I'll know him when I see him,

The moment we speak,

For our souls will touch,

Like his hand to my cheek.

And for that moment,

Forever I will wait,

For it is written in heaven,

And that is my fate.

              --- Amye Louise Long