It was cool among the trees, and damp.
Sunlight poked fitfully through a canopy
Of young, green leaves, dappling a
Slender muddy path that occasionally
Threatened to dwindle to a mere
Thread. Sometimes the sun winked
And glanced across the drab faces of
Puddles that lingered in the low spots.
Everything was green, brown or gray,
Even the doves, slender and graceful,
Heads like ballerinas. They shot from
The undergrowth on wings filled with
The low, hollow whistle of sudden flight.
When I think of the grove, I think of You,
And how You made it and shaded it and
Brought me there, to walk and talk and
Enjoy the companionship of a good friend.
And to see the swallowtail, of course.
You dressed her in yellow, scalloped
In black, trimmed her skirt’s pleat in
Cobalt blue. You taught her to dance,
To flit across our shadowed path, flirting
With the forest and us as we followed,
Always one step behind, breath caught.
So onward she danced, daintily leaping
From leaf to leaf, in a kind of rejoicing.
My heart fell to following her lead,
Because I knew we were sisters, that
Glad lady and I. Two of Your creatures,
Born in ugliness, made beautiful
By Your touch. How is a mystery.
When I think of the grove, I think of You
And how You made me and saved me and
Brought me here, to walk and talk and
Enjoy the companionship of my Good Lord.
And to dance like the swallowtail, of course.
