Ancient Needles
"After Yusef Komunyakaa"

It was spring, or as close as you could get in Scotland
with battleship gray skies looming on the horizon everyday.
I didn't know where I was, other than miles from home,
where mom had pulled us out for an energetic hike
in the middle of the highlands and pine trees, awfully close
to where we bought our Christmas trees in the winter.
Clouds were boiling above us and I'd left my watch behind
but it felt timeless as we walked the worn old paths
of a nameless park nestled on a craggy ridge that sprouted
hardy shrubs that braved the blasting winds and rain.
A forest loomed up ahead, and though we'd passed through
once already, I felt something watching from the dark inside.
I was sure that there was nothing to be afraid of, however
"I knew that something stood among those lost trees."
We entered almost silently, our footfalls muffled
by a colorful carpet of red pine needles and the gloom
closed in, blocking out the watery light, making
the sensation of unease in my stomach grow.
Out of the murk, three figures faded into view.
They looked like giant red buffalo that had stepped
out of some picture book where they had stood next to
diagrams of wooly mammoths and saber toothed tigers.
I was scared to approach them, but as I did so
I saw why they had held themselves so still.
They weren't afraid of us because they were merely
sculptures whose bodies were composed of wire filled
with ancient red needles and gray beards of moss.
I walked around the throwbacks from some forgotten
time, peering with awe at their wizened old faces.
I felt as if they were imparting to me the knowledge
that they'd acquired in all the years they stood silently
watching over the hidden forest path and when we
finally walked away, I kept turning back to stare
into the shadows, watching as the forest giants dissolved.
I smiled, thinking that even the hidden things have a story.

October 8, 2002