Early morning, day light
hangs loosely on our shoulders,
in our hair
as we walk, silent,
sniffing like the deer who crosses our path,
who stops – still as a statue –
sees us,
darts away.
We make a narrow path
in the darker places,
walking in a line.
We are One then:
with the path,
with the eager birds,
with the sky,
with the silence that holds us,
carries us.
***
“Early morning, day light,” poem by Mary Elyn Bahlert, May, 2025,
at the Ridges, Baileys Harbor
“At the Ridges,” photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, May, 2025
