There are signs of them everywhere
showing up in the wild looking pair of beautiful metal wings
set up on the shoreline in fae colours of dark moss green
and the deepest lake of blue
inviting us to step inside their breadth
and become earth angels.
Stumbled upon at the crossroad of here and now
a pair of worn leather Doc Marten boots
their peacock hue flashing in the late afternoon light
tied to the post of a broken wire fence.
Traces are found in dew soaked grass
cradling a red topped toadstool
that wasn’t there the day before.
Their voices are in the wind, nature’s warriors,
reminding me, that I am never alone.
The title for this poem was inspired by words found in a horoscope column from a local community newspaper written for Taurus.