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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 1, March 2014


Mary Frederick Ahearn
Pottstown, Pennsylvania, USA

Season of Leaves

So sad, so strange
the days that are no more.

                 â€”Alfred, Lord Tennyson

It wasn't long before I saw you again. Not as in dreams, prayer, or apparition, but as yourself, whole again; silent and knowing, a benign fetch.

Later, full of wonder, I walked out into the fields where a white butterfly floated ahead, over the high grasses, and into the green air of the woods.

There a breeze stirred the trees and, from the shade within

the song of the bird
that calls my name
over and over
in this, the season
of leaves, of leaving.

a promise
to lay me to rest
where the deer cross
down into the high field . . .
sun to shadow to sun once more



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