THE SPIRIT MOOSE
This trip was meant to be a healing of the heart.
And so we set out
In rented camper – my sister, daughter, me
And my wee dog.
From Ottawa to the Pacific we would go
The trip the holiday and not the destination.
Each interesting spot we would pursue
And leave nothing unexplored.
Camera ready at hand,
Film in the fridge by the score.
Shooting each wild animal was my intent
Not just a wish--it was my command.
“I’ve never seen a moose,” I said,
My sister sighed in despair
She’d seen so many moose and deer
It was nothing new to her.
And so it was in Ontario’s North
A moose did suddenly appear.
Majestically down the bank she came
To the ditch at the side of the road.
“There’s your moose,” my sister said,
She was driving at the time.
“Stop, stop,” I cried and so she did with slight disgust..
“Must I stop each time a moose runs by?”
I did not hear her sigh.
“Of course,” I said,” it’s new to me
And a picture I must have.”
The moose now behind us running in the ditch.
Stopped just twenty feet from the
Back of the camper’s door.
Then slowly strode behind the van
As if to cross the road.
While dog and I and daughter
Went wild with delight and awe
I took the picture from so near
Each hair was neat in place.
Wee dog went wild with fear and stress,
She was barking up a storm
The moose looked slightly annoyed with us
But stood there in a pose.
These tourists, she must have thought
Know not the reality of the wild.
She trotted majestically on her way
And we reluctantly went ours.
So on we went from east to west
And were rewarded most every day
With deer and bear and mountain goat
But nothing could compare
With the wondrous sight of the moose that day
In the hills of Ontario’s north.
Eventually back home we came
And the films we developed in haste.
Every picture turned out perfectly
Except the one of the moose.
There were only road and hills displayed
And a lake in the distance was clear.
Eventually I forgot the moose,
The mystery I could not solve
But the picture haunted me many years
And the photo hung on my wall.
I thought one day the moose would appear
Just like the moose on the road.
Sixteen years passed by with the mystery intact
Then one day I met a young man quite unique.
His psychic mind could hear the voice
Of those gone on before.
Those voices came from highly evolved souls
And one whose name was Joseph
My friend and I sat at a coffee bar one day
He suddenly looked at me and said
“Joseph says he was the moose,.
Does that make sense to you?”
“Oh, yes, indeed it does,”
And I let the story unfold.
The lesson learned was quite a jolt.
And stayed with me all these years.
Our human eyes may see a sight
That isn’t there at all
So what is truth and what is real
And what is the illusion of life.
© Copyright 2007 Chanon (UN: rmsalsman at Writing.Com).
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