June the Eighth

FOR every good thing in the world, I give thanks.
Thanks for the flowers, the bees, the trees providing a canopy of shade.
Thank you for the clouds above, that inspire us with their grandeur,
Like mountains they rise to tempt us with their heights.

Let my memory be the eternal scrapbook of beauty,
And my kindnesses the result of people who have
Encouraged and guided by those who
Have loved me.

For every blessed thing, I give thanks.
Thank you for the children who have given their smiles freely
And their love unconditionally.
For our parents who sacrificed so much for us,
And for our grandparents, who did the same.

Let love guide us now and always.

- BY THE BLOG AUTHOR

June The Eighth

Travelling through the Dark

TRAVELLING through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.

My fingers touching her side brought me the reason -
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.

The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.

I thought hard for us all - my only swerving -
then pushed her over the edge into the river.

- by WILLIAM STAFFORD