This Stillness

I follow

the silhouette

gliding smooth on

rugged ground

from ridge to creek,

then eyes, by instinct, rise to a

raven against the sun.

It was not the bird but it’s

shadow that caused this stillness.

Do shadows leave behind an etching in

unbroken snow, a trail in dust?

Is there a lasting effect of

shadow-bearing beyond the

passing obstruction of light? It seems if we are

standing where we should, at some still point of being,

against the sun, then mystery alone

is the great thrower of our

shadier individualities. There are days

I feel myself the shadow of

a raven.