The poem
Where the path closed down and over, through the scumbled leaves, fallen branches, through the knotted catbrier, I kept going. Finally I could not save my arms from thorns; soon the mosquitoes smelled me, hot and wounded, and came wheeling and whining. And that's how I came to the edge of the pond: black and empty except for a spindle of bleached reeds at the far shore which, as I looked, wrinkled suddenly into three egrets - - - a shower of white fire! Even half-asleep they had such faith in the world that had made them - - - tilting through the water, unruffled, sure, by the laws of their faith not logic, they opened their wings softly and stepped over every dark thing.
On the way home from the cabin I saw that the thirty or so egrets had left the reed pond for other climes. It is the sad beginning for fall for me. No more queenly plumes til spring !
Monika - please read these poems in another five years or so. Understanding often follows experience and the passage of time. Listen and watch for the egret waiting in you.
When the dark skies bring your day down and you are unable to wake up to reality, reading this poem not only shows you the way up, it show you light, it frees you from the darkness.
How do I view the poem? It does not come up on my screen.