Today, we found our wedding colors in nature–
red twig dogwood mingling with white barked trees.
Across the path, a dead tree growing like a vine
looped around the living, sleeping tree
that held it still to the sky.
Together we crouched at the edge of the bramble,
bare branches only beginning to bud,
listening to a soft crunching, certain
it was footsteps or some animal pawing
at the snapping twigs and rotting leaves.
We peered between shafts of hibernating bushes
watching for movement, until the late spring
sun slanted through the thicket, laying down
a chill in its departure. There was nothing–
only the rhythmic rustling we were sure was hiding
some greater treasure, until the wind
broke through the trees and our jackets,
and in resignation we shrugged off the hope
of seeing deer, certain now the sound was only
the wind, throwing its voice for our entertainment.
The trees made a fog-filled tunnel for us
to lead us back to the clearing
we had come from. We followed–and then, a crack.
Not gentle rustling, but branches snapping
sharply and rapidly, a blur of pale brown
with a white tail rushing through and then gone,
branches breaking the air until the sound
died back down to only wind. We stood
for a moment, awed, then picked our way
through the dogwood, back toward home.