On the narrow bridge over Hardscrabble Creek
I toast you both and pour a libation
into spring’s fast-rushing water,
under the white face of the Moon.
I will miss you both, I say to the creek,
and the dog tugs at his leash.
We continue up the rising road
where the Moon reflects in beaver ponds,
into this night and the next night after.
Pagan or mountain-girl atheist, you both
would have enjoyed the Moon,
rising through the pines, the still night
smelling of wood smoke and lilacs.
Although Carolyn Petersen died before Morning Glory Zell, I learned of both their passings yesterday. The Wild Hunt has a tribute to Morning Glory; Carolyn’s last days are described by her husband, David Petersen, a Colorado hunting and nature writer, here.