Somewhere between
the raking of leaves and the burning,
I caught the sound of geese,
looked up and saw them flying,
high overhead in a sky the blue of a clear October day.

They shifted in form and direction,
white bellies catching the reflection of the sun,
black-banded wings speckling the pattern.
As they turned one way and another,
different angles of light
caught certain beats of white in sparkling glow:
the lines seemed to shimmer.

The glimmering faded then brightened alternately,
like the sides of silver fish herded by dolphins.
I watched them but for a moment,
saw the last gleaming,
then, could see them no more.

There are many wonders in this world,
things made by the hands of human
and other things more wondrous,
made by other hands.

Sometimes they stand for centuries,
other times are lost in the space of a cough,
a slight turning,
caught often only in a single glance
and then lost
like the last note of a dance.

Flowers fade, leaves fall, trees die.

But even when faith has passed into sight
and hope into holding,
there will be love.

H. Arnett
11/18/09