Jack Chielli
Walking Wil
This morning the field spiders
set their webs to the stems
of the broom grass
so that in that light
it looked like a thousand tall ships
sailing across the green and amber field.
I looked beyond the sea of grasses
to the nearby mountains
that silently watched the woods
and fields where we walked
And remembered you
making your own way across the field,
ignoring my calls to stay as your black tail
disappeared over the grey stone wall.
What a privilege it was to walk with you
each day in the rising and falling light
— an escape to the order
kept by the field.
It's quiet here now
without the fox watching
or doe standing her ground;
it's not the same,
the order of things,
they were never the same
after you left.