Tag Archives: October's light

By Ethel Mortenson Davis

Last night two men
slept close to an elephant trail,
hoping to see the herd.
In the morning
they discovered an elephant track
between their two sleeping bags.

We are the same.
We are part of them,
they, part of us.

This morning we ran
to catch a glimpse
of the last of October’s light
as she lit the tops of trees on fire,

and heard the voices of cranes,
high above our heads,
that we have heard 
a thousand times before.

But still, we were lifted.

A great river
drifts through us.
She glimpses us
to see if we have caught
the ripples she throws out.