My Exodus

Painting

The Night's Long Journey 
©Cristie Henry

Soon I'll leave this farm and this barn where I sip my coffee each day,

amid molted feathers and soiled straw

and the opinions of determined crows when they fly over~

The sun's shadow or a blurred feathered streak 
will show me where to lay down my next nest that I'll make it from bursting cattail heads~

ochre strands of brittle grass~
tawney bits of fur found hanging from unmended fences~
collected offerings from the bodies of moose and stag and bear who 

rubbed their regards against 
moss-covered boulders~

from sea-urchins, shark-eyes, and silver-dollars~

I'll lay down a path of stones leading to my door, all rounded and smooth,

to be easy on his feet when he brings me his songs, his stories, and his weather~

What forest, which shore, what dry and thirsty desert or grotto of tangled vines might pull me in and pull out of me 

what I didn't know that I needed to give~

It could be a three day journey, a three hour drive, or just a three mile walk~

I'll need directions and destinations~

I'll need maps, landmarks, and omens~

I'll sift through the cooling ashes of the burned-down barn

for artifacts or talismans~ 

Then I'll set out to find this new place of peace and a friendly neighbor~ 

Maybe I'll sit with my coffee again and listen harder to the opinions of those determined crows, and just follow them when they fly over.