The Scent of Beauty

Agawela is climbing
The impossible tree,
Searching higher
For the unreachable.
Through the fresh citrus
Scent of glossy green leaves,
Is another, illusive, fragrance,
Calling, a reminder of
Beauty and safety and
Strength, long ago.
Long thorns are everywhere.
She sits a moment to rest
From her climbing search,
Honoring the memory, the
Long ago thorn tree
With her blood.
Quite still, almost invisible
She thinks she hides
Her beauty behind
The pain of thorns,
And the shiny leaves.
If she is high enough,
Between Earth and Sky.
Protected by thorns,
By thin branches, then
No one can reach her.
Who would search here?
Only she seeks comfort in
The beauty and danger.
Protected from memory by
The Scent of Beauty
No one will know
She is not behind
The misery, hidden
By beautiful danger.
She is her own misery,
With her pillow
Of thistles
Softening her fear
When sleeping
In childhood dreams.
Where does that flower
Scent come from?
It can not be found,
Standing safely on
The ground,
Or in the comfort of
Loving strong arms.
It is a tree top vine,
Twistings dreams and illusions,
Tiny flowers invisible.
Where is it?
Amongst the thorns
She climbs higher,
Holding tight,
Her sense of balance gone.
Lost years ago,
Balance was left impaled
On another thorn tree,
In another season.
Perhaps she would have fallen
To the ground,
To exposure and being found,
Had not the thorns slowed
Her descent.
No balance, no up, no down,
Only safety behind danger
Misery enveloped, contained in
The Scent of Beauty.
Agawela leaves strands
Of silvery hair tangled
Amongst the thorns
A thank you to the tree
A thank you for the
Scent of Beauty,
The feeling of safety,
For the butterflies, and
Ants and sky and clouds,
For the birds nesting.
Some of Agalwela’s hair,
Her blood, her joy,
Her song in the tree,
Her search for the unreachable,
Those are her thank you,
Received by thorns.

Bear … 04.10.2014
ⓒ Bearspawprint
Agawela = Old Woman — Cherokee (Tsalagi)