Thistles & the Wild Wind
That would be the purple thistle, emblem of Scotland the Brave where the seabirds keen and if you're very lucky you might hear a piper skirling to the wild wind.
I sit and watch the birds and sometimes tell my friend
about the day's small doings.
But she wasn't there, at the Autumn Equinox when I read stories aloud. Nor will she see the jolly YouTube, though I send it skimming her way across a deep pool.
A horrid upbringing had haunted her; she never felt quite safe.
When I heard her story's ending, I sat up through the night singing rite of passage Hospice song, and as best I could held her hand on far journey.
In quietude she turned, seemingly, and said, "Do it now; do it while living. Forgive the unforgivable."
I woke at first light to birdsong and such a feeling of joy and freedom.
And so I remember my kindly friend, blithe and imperishable, old pain shot through the heart.