The shimmering griffin talons of fairy tales carry her high over church bells muffled by snow.
She wears a golden dress in case there are further instructions. None have come through so far.
She knows what is missing and whispers in the griffin’s ear to take her higher as she leans into
the golden mane. She has the language of sorrow in her pocket, hoping to trade it for a language
of joy even if it costs extra. It is getting darker. She blesses the remaining forests, vows to honor
them while they still stand. For a short while, a slender moon lines up with two planets. Jupiter.
Venus. She blesses the splinters and fragments of life. An early kiss. A meeting of eyes once on
a river raft. Moments when love was not judged frivolous. She sighs in preparation for the
inevitable descent into reality. She hadn’t realized it was going to take so much courage.