Brigid’s Ritual, Part 10

A bright morning after
The Harvest Moon
I walk the fresh path through
Our woods --and enter
Between a Pine and an Oak
Next to the north altar --a door
To a Druid circle--
North, East, South, and West marked with 
Friendly rocks from other sacred places, 
Other lives --mine, and his--
My familiar is dying
And the new circle is a present
Before he leaves this plane--
As we pause I ask for 
One more blessing--
My creature eyes me quizzically,
With intelligent patience--  
A being who smells intentions, disease,
Happiness--
My fuss and worry 
A mysterious scent--
His devotion boundless --immediate--
From his cage, a six month old puppy 
Rescued me --his choice clear--
To a wise partner, stepping 
On my heels when I'm astray--
I want to capture his canine love 
Within the four quarters--
And yet, at long last, I grasp 
His teaching --to live fully
Committed --this hallowed moment
A gift for us both--
To simply cherish our magic
Bond, once more--
And to hold him when he dies--
Until next time
When we meet
And love again.

Laurel Owen
September, 2024