Winter's Thaw

Kneeling next to the winter’s thawing stream
a shadow quickened out from the corner of his eye. 
Slowly he looks out across the opposite shore.
An intent look meets his from beneath
the shadows of the evergreens, reflecting an uncertainty.
Both were frozen as if on the front line
awaiting for their captain’s command
to burst some spear of stinging bullets
into one or the other’s skin. 

Cautiously, the glare emerges
out from underneath his camouflage.
Like a ghost he stood out from the grim shadows.
His fur of ashen silver covered his massive build. 
Wide-eyed the young man caught
the majestic view of the wizened wolf
standing proud on the dark clay bank staring back
with disbelief that the young man-cub was still there. 

Held captive, mesmerized by the warrior spirit,
the young man watches as the other lowers his eyes.
A ceded look shoots through his face, hiding no emotion.
Conveyed was such a burden with the lives lost of his pack,
he has suffered long to the overpopulated lands, suffocating
the hunt of winterkill. Then, the silvered wolf saunters
to the cool early morning runoff, with a bow of his head
he quenches his thirst.

Tears form around the young man’s ebony eyes
as these words come forth from his tongue,
“I know I have great faith in you, O’ Grandfather,
but I ask of your guidance in this journey,
the long red dirt road, and that you bless me
both with your spirit and your body!
So that I can make a difference and
bring peace to this world and all of my people.”

As the wailing cries of the Ancestor Song echo
the young man’s emotions dance across his face.
All of the ageless legends tell me that their journey together

has just begun.