10-17-2021, 02:23 AM
In What We Trust
Good ole Buck was a bear of a dog,
a burly black shepherd with a small white tie
on his chest. One early autumn evening
we were sitting on the top steps of the porch
at my brother’s place, eavesdropping
on the urgent chirping of crickets.
A cool breeze stirred up an earthy smell
from under fallen leaves. Old oaks lifted
moonlit limbs above the woods, but Buck
had fixed his gaze beyond the trees.
His gentle amber eyes reflected the rising moon,
his rapt silence spoke volumes in animal language.
Was he imagining dogwood branches as arms
cradling the crescent moon, mighty Jupiter
wooing that lonely Autumn Star?
Bucky laid his head on my shoulder, revealing
a smile, then raised his soft, graying snout
to savor the ripe autumn air. Slowly releasing
a singsongy yawn, he placed a paw upon my hand,
as if assuring me that he was at ease, and unafraid.
Almost 40 years later, on a clear October night,
as I ponder the myriad mysteries of the heavens,
I recall the simple faith we shared that evening;
I’ve thought of it often since we buried ole Buck
by the brambles in my brother’s back yard.
Good ole Buck was a bear of a dog,
a burly black shepherd with a small white tie
on his chest. One early autumn evening
we were sitting on the top steps of the porch
at my brother’s place, eavesdropping
on the urgent chirping of crickets.
A cool breeze stirred up an earthy smell
from under fallen leaves. Old oaks lifted
moonlit limbs above the woods, but Buck
had fixed his gaze beyond the trees.
His gentle amber eyes reflected the rising moon,
his rapt silence spoke volumes in animal language.
Was he imagining dogwood branches as arms
cradling the crescent moon, mighty Jupiter
wooing that lonely Autumn Star?
Bucky laid his head on my shoulder, revealing
a smile, then raised his soft, graying snout
to savor the ripe autumn air. Slowly releasing
a singsongy yawn, he placed a paw upon my hand,
as if assuring me that he was at ease, and unafraid.
Almost 40 years later, on a clear October night,
as I ponder the myriad mysteries of the heavens,
I recall the simple faith we shared that evening;
I’ve thought of it often since we buried ole Buck
by the brambles in my brother’s back yard.