Out in the woods
of Brindlee Mountain
Three childlike souls are
Rediscovering old wonder,
Relearning their trust of
Something larger
(an Oak, a God, an Ending),
Retreading the familiar ground
of Innocence.
Dirty, scraped, smiling
The troubadours return to
Their waking world,
Each carrying a reminder
within themselves:
Chilled winds can cut
or comfort;
Falling down can hurt
or hearten;
Things can die
in the midst
of Spring’s passion,
But wild daisies can also
bloom in December.

In their homes
in the heart of Huntsville,
Three wearied souls have
Found cheer in chances,
Enjoyed a force greater than themselves:
Goddess, thy name is Serendipity
(finality, loose ends, new friends),
And founded a trust
in the path being found.
Content, bemused, smiling
The travelers prepare
To return to their Dreamings,
Each carrying a reminder
of the connection they have found.
Strength can spring from a random event;
Happiness can survive
in the depth of chaos;
Doors can close
in a fury
of disaster,
But others will open
Like the tender blossom
of Hope.