The Crone
By Angusfolklore
- 624 reads
I heard the crone with the besom
before dawn every morning,
idly in action on the hill ,
sweeping without hope
the red gold copper tide
of autumn leaves away
from the village.
No word, but a croon as old
as the cracked moon as she went,
bent rhythm unending until the light
made better sense of her task.
No one asked her to be relentless
in her senseless sweeping,
trying to hold back the season
with her wild haired broom.
Nobody looked from thankfully
dimmed windows at her actions,
afraid they would see her
holding back something worse
than the effluence of the trees.
But once, drunk or mad,
or in a dream, I swear I looked
and saw no witch but a woman
achingly alive and mature,
beautiful as a cherry tree
in full blossom,
gathering golden leaves
to her feet,
and laughing at the
bare treasure there.
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Comments
Such a powerful image, and
Such a powerful image, and the way you suddenly bring in the observer, with their own doubts about what they've seen, is particularly effective. Very much enjoyed this.
I wasn't sure if 'cheery' tree is meant to be cherry tree? Either works, actually, but I couldn't make my mind up.
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