Angels in the Evening Woods
Far from the city
noise,
I walk the woods,
try to block out a
president
who has made life
hell
for the least among
us --
allowing my
imagination to wander
Night approaches;
I do not fear the dark.
At twilight, the
evening woods
create profound
silhouettes,
they rise, a line
of stiff, solemn soldiers,
heads touching the
navy blue of sunset.
I study how the
towering red pines
shelter families
of deer who live
beneath their
fine-scented branches –
how the trees supply
sanctuary
for even the least
among them.
It is night, but I
cannot close my eyes.
Even during the
hunt,
deer, owls, and rabbits
will sleep in the
shelter of my soldiers,
angels in the
evening woods.
It is night, but I
cannot close my eyes.
I think how
differently guards
at the border view
themselves --
follow orders
blindly
strike fear in the
hearts
of families with
no place to hide in the night.
Where are
humanity’s protectors?
Who supports and
defends families
who flee violence and death?
Those families are
hunted; they fear the dark.
They may be moved
out of sight,
but they cannot be
erased.
The woods cannot
shelter them.
Where are the
protective arms
of civilized duty?
Who supplies sanctuary
for even the least
among them?
Even as I walk far
from the noise
my eyes remain
open.
We must learn
from the angels in
the evening woods.
