Hurry Hard

Hurry Hard

written by: Sara MacDonald

@DrSaraMacDonald

 

Hurry hard hurry hard!
The hard scrabbling squirrels,
heeding some hidden sign,
scaled the stretching trees,
raced to uncertain perches
too fragile for their walnut
girth and weight.

The grey blue heron,
now more blue than grey,
since the snow reshaped the shore, startled up, gravely awkward,
all its grace gone
in its ungainly wings
and trailing feet.

The beavers gnawed
through the wood and the woods,
leaving industrial clear cuts,
barren,
except for sharp pikes
extending as if from graves
of fallen soldiers.

But even then, some would scoff
if a boy in a lion skin approached,
offering the taste of new water
that only he knew was the path
to a drunken and restless faith.