Needing one, I invented her - <br />the great-great-aunt dark as hickory <br />called Shining-Leaf, or Drifting-Cloud <br />or The-Beauty-of-the-Night. <br /> <br />Dear aunt, I'd call into the leaves, <br />and she'd rise up, like an old log in a pool, <br />and whisper in a language only the two of us knew <br />the word that meant follow, <br /> <br />and we'd travel <br />cheerful as birds <br />out of the dusty town and into the trees <br />where she would change us both into something quicker - <br />two foxes with black feet, <br />two snakes green as ribbons, <br />two shimmering fish - and all day we'd travel. <br /> <br />At day's end she'd leave me back at my own door <br />with the rest of my family, <br />who were kind, but solid as wood <br />and rarely wandered. While she, <br />old twist of feathers and birch bark, <br />would walk in circles wide as rain and then <br />float back <br /> <br />scattering the rags of twilight <br />on fluttering moth wings; <br /> <br />or she'd slouch from the barn like a gray opossum; <br /> <br />or she'd hang in the milky moonlight <br />burning like a medallion, <br /> <br />this bone dream, this friend I had to have, <br />this old woman made out of leaves.<br /><br />Mary Oliver<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/aunt-leaf/
