I feel the weight of the quiver
A gift and a burden of fire in my bones
The forest is silent and I pluck the bow
It sings like an instrument
I reach back to feel feathers
Drawing out smooth and straight
The heart of a tree
And a red tip
I hear the oak leaves shiver
And suddenly I can smell the earth
In the meeting of taut string and limb
My arms strengthen
I do not shoot
I am waiting and watching
Learning the names of my arrows
Tuning string to match strength
When the wind blows again
The trees will open a path
With clear eye and steady hand
I will be ready
~lg