Understand, I’ll slip quietly away from the noisy crowd when I see the pale stars rising, blooming, over the oaks.
I’ll pursue solitary pathways through the pale twilit meadows, with only this one dream: You come too.
Stolen Pathway by Brenda Davis Harsham
Here, each step smells of spruce. I flee the humming bees.
There, beside a stolen pathway, a cardinal calls its mate.
Everywhere, among the lilac stars, I find you.
Notes: This photograph was taken in July at the Cornell Botanical gardens. This December, the days are ever shorter, and in the darkest hours I haven’t let go of remembering. The touch of memories is starting to be lighter, more sweet. I’m remembering with more fondness and less pain. May you remember happy times, too, and may it bring you magic.
Writing Tip: Sometimes, when you find a mentor poem, you also discover what you want to say through a poem that speaks to you. I try to follow its lead, sometimes through the rhythm or structure, but more often through the image or mood. We should be careful to give credit where credit is due. Can Rilke’s Pathways or my Stolen Pathway inspire your writing?
On city streets, rough winds fly snapping trees, bruising branches while final fruits are coaxed to roundness tender with summer’s sweetness, a promise of thanks and giving both, a slow subsiding of this year’s troubles.