Transform

An Ode to Claire

She rubs her eyes

Her vision adjusts to the light

A gentle wind blows

Blades of grass wave and tickle her soul

Her white robe clings to her form

She stretches and spins in the grassy flats

A distant solemn oak calls to her

Rocked and cradled leaves set free to the lush green

Her eyes hang on the drifting cumulous

She turns her cheeks to the sun

A council of crows darken the sky

They expand their wings in a silent symphony

They descend to her

The birds blanket to her feet

At once they raise their beaks to the infinite raven

Among them its wingspan casts shadows

The raven beckons his order

He swoops digging his talons into the Earth, tilts, and bows to her

The crows mirror

The oak’s last leaf sways

She bows

Naomi awakens in darkness to Claire’s harp

Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.

2 Corinthians 5:17

Love,

Nadia