The Point of Sitrom Rogir's Cane
Michael Aridfox
"Falinea! Guide this old fool!"
he cried out as we left on our
way toward that place.
"I've been gone a long time,
know the way," he inquired,
"to that grove in the woods?"
Assured him I did, that I would
lead the way. I had travelled
there oft long ago.
Embarassed myself in the old
fellow's eyes, I was sure. I could
not find the path.
He muttered of youngsters
these days, though himself at
a loss to proceed.
Were his eyes failing now,
had his memory waned? But his
years don't explain me inept.
Tree after tree I fumbled about,
while his wrinkles spelled sadness
and doubt wherever I looked.
He pondered the meaning, the loss
of the grove. "It was always a
beautiful place..."
I searched for pride's sake, but
began to despair quietly that the
way might be gone.
An unsettled fear settled in on
me then, that I cared even,
cared this much still.
My mind fled to hours and days
when I prayed and I pondered
and served and rejoiced.
Once thought entered old sacred
space, my foot found the place
it should step, used to step.
"It's HERE! Old Man, over here!"
I called out. With a cackling glee
he drew near.
Sudden spriteliness entered his gait
and he passed me up, hobbling less,
walking stick speeding through.
I myself slowed a bit, stood there
outside, saw regrets tower over
the trees.
Was it sin, shame or she that slew
something in me such that I
had so abandoned this path?
I pushed thoughts aside, swallowed pride
with a gulp and stepped into the
grove's sacred space.
The elder one beamed as he leaned
on his walking-stick, looking
for spring to arrive.
"Where could that lovely
lady have gone?" he asked
me as if I should know.
No answer would come, but the old
man approached, his cane poking
through icy crusts.
The crackling sound of his voice,
the weight of his words breaking
old frozen stillness startled me.
Beneath bushy white eyebrows lifted
my way, his inquiry's bitter cold bites
despite the delight in his voice.
"She certainly has left a mark
on the lands." I stared at his
knotted old hands gripping the cane.
He repeated it twice to me then,
"Perhaps she did not enjoy being
heralded as a Goddess."
Perhaps she did
not enjoy being
heralded as a Goddess.