wedding day

the sun watches, that patient witness–

red tailed hawks circle overhead,

their wings dark against the pale sky.

purple lupine bow in the breeze,

indian paintbrush blaze like scattered embers

across the green tapestry of grass.

trees whisper of steadfastness,

standing still while seasons wheel overhead

like constellations.

she thinks of that morning many years ago,

just two of them here—

white linen gathering dust on the hems.

the way his face lifted to her

like a sunflower tracking light.

their hands meeting.

their heartbeats a kind of prayer, 

a vow, faithfully exchanged. 

the geology of love like these mountains: 

layers upon layers of sediment, 

compressed by time into something that bears weight,

solid enough to build a life upon.

is this not how the wild teaches us? 

through rising and falling,

through holding and letting go, 

through burying what you most cherish

and discovering, when winter yields,

an unexpected bloom.