Scattered Leaves

On the Shoulders of Giants

by Trevor Worthey

To the great valley I come,
Over a path of ash,
To that great haven
The wind bore me fast.

I shine my gaze down
On fields of dewy moss;
To the impenetrable sky, I look
That I might not
Be lost.

To my friend, the giant, I turn,
He knows what I’d bid him do.
Without a word he lifts me up,
Upon his shoulder he sits me.
And I can see
All the land—
Beautiful,
Serene.

As I watch, the cool air,
Swiftly moving in these lofty climbs,
Causes my eyes to cry.
And through this glassy lens I view
The world as is meant to be.

He walks up to a peak with me,
To a heavenly spire tall,
And perched upon the mountaintop,
I see.

He moves with me upon his shoulder,
Shows me each valley in turn:
Rich and illustrious with life—
I gaze in wonder.

Presently we come
To another great being,
His face higher
Than the sun.

I am lifted,
With sinuous digit,
Past the great mouth,
The bulbous nose,
The grand eyes;
To alight
Upon his shoulder…

My sight is spread anew!
I can glimpse infinity:
Staring blatantly into the face
Of Time in its…
Its omnipotent place.
I see
Once more.

Yes, I see, but
The valleys are unclear,
Blurred by the air—
In quantities beneath me lies—
Tainted
Through distance; and yet
Still is such a realm
Magnificent in its glory.
And still do I wonder
At the world
Presented to me.

Suddenly I sense a change—
My mount is moving,
‘Cross the earth
My stomach lurches:
The world, beneath me, turns.
---
Pleasantly I sit
Upon immortal giant
Content, and safe,
From any force defiant.

Currently, a lapse occurs
To my reverie I slip
And stare in utter wonder,
The world, beneath me, sits.
The breath is taken
From my lungs.
My heart rises,
Excited,
Rapt.

As I sit
And stare onto the world,
A marvel to me is made clear:
A shining city, though not a bit,
Can I begin to see it
All.

It draws me from my utter whim,
My attention brought unto its spires;
Glimmering, shining,
Amazingly
Blinding.
I crane my neck
To better look
Upon its architecture grand,
I bravely rise
To my quavering limbs
I gaze in expectation
And see—

My breath leaves me
I become lightheaded
I am…
Overwhelmed
With Vertigo
My vision dims; a rush to the head
Onto his hair
I fix my grip
That I might not plunge
Into my death.

But Alas!
I hold to hard,
Unsteadily I gaze, and
I am deceived.
My senseless retreat
Waivers on a knife.

And O fatal folly!
What terrible force supports thee?
What awful Leviathan,
What great—
Giant—
Pushes me from
My arrogant stance?
6
And as my vision fades, I see
A last glimpse of that city fair
Whose beauty, grandeur,
Overtook me;
Threw me into…
My blind dive
Of fateful demise.

The feeling of weightlessness,
The Embrace with utter bliss,
The beauty of ignorance,
The remotely serene
Slip into This.

This fall,
This remorse,
This…
This acceptance
Of grievances foul—
This utter lament
For the reception
Of Death’s woeful dowry.

This feeling that comes
With falling from a height
Insurmountable without the help
Of a Giant
From the past.

My body plunges,
My mind elapses—
My countenance construes
Death’s silver
Paralysis.

I do not wake, at first,
I am barely conscious.
Slowly, I lift my head.

Forgetfulness overcomes me

I lay like a sack
Across a fresh breadth.
I am hardly alive,
Barely above the lowest branches
Of the mighty Hawthorne tree

I start,
I wonder,
I snap alert,
With alarm—
I push myself up,
But I am stayed by
My captor’s hand.

I observe as I had before,
But now, my mind is calm.
Now, I have no wonder;
Simply solemn reverence
For the Hawthorne tree

I explore the balance,
The gentle flow and ebb
My proximity allows.
I am brought to intimacy with
The Giant Hawthorne tree

My new friend,
My ample guide,
Shows me things
I have never seen:
----------------------------

A beetle floats by.
His legs stick out,
Protruding at all angles.
His wings flitter
Faster than the eyes will notice;
He seems to know
Where he is going,
From whence he comes:
He softly hums—
A drone to all [but him]—
His world tune.
I am awed.

I watch an elegant tiger,
Prowling along a merciless path.
His legs, full of power,
Propel him toward
His temporary goal.
He is intent.
Sinuous muscles writhe
Under the shiny coat.
He pounces:
An unseen victim
Cries its death too late.
He is content.
I shudder, awed.

A solemn doe
Tends to the fawns.
They take from the pool,
They live on the berries—
But one youngling,
Its snowy spots not yet gone,
Cannot get food
For an awfully bleeding limp.
His mother lowers branches,
Transfers food into his mouth,
In a tranquil kiss:
Of life.
My heart fills with compassion,
Awed.

I raise my voice;
Though not so loud as to disrupt;
In inquiry
Of this lord of the forest:
His name.

A gentle voice
Resonates through my bones—
A deep reply—
“Caither.”

My mind relaxes; starts—
I know that name,
That bell tolls clear.
Though I know not
Why it does so.

Caither:
A new-formed writer, perhaps?
Or the latest voice in psychology?
It matters not,
I know that name!
Caither: the one who let me be
A child of nature
Once more.

The voice continues:
“But here, good sir, I must let you off,
For my soul no longer
Resides on this earth.
Your journey, prince,
Has made you strong;
May it make you wiser still.
Now I must off,
To die
Alone.”

He turns to go,
And as he leaves,
A tear comes to my eyes.
I start behind him, open my mouth
To shout, but
Before I can,
Caither, my great friend,
Has left my eyes forever.

I start to weep,
My eyes close;
A barely felt epiphany
Has slipped tragically away.

A voice [the last] enters my mind,
Speaks to my soul:
“Do not cry, my son—
For mourning does not serve
A loss not worth grieving.
Rejoice!
Be rapt once again!
Caither has left you stronger
Than you think.
Come: I’ll show you.”

I lift my head
And look about—
I am no longer
In nature’s own domain.

I stand before
A roaring fire,
Ten metres high, no less
And my wise comforter
Stays my aching head.

And in the fire, I see:

That grand city!
On the Silver River,
Its golden peaks a-glitter!

But as I watch,
The vision shifts—
Still the city I love,
But now a dim,
Noisy alley.
I see the Earl of Worcester,
His sunken eyes making a pact
With the Dragon.
As the pen
Lays in black the signature,
I feel the lives
Of willing souls, en masse,
Being thrust into the Fire
From a seal wrought
Solely by ignorance.

My tears flow.
My heart aches,
To my knees, I fall
To my dark, jaded hell.

Yet—my life all but
snuffed from the candle—
My mentor, savior.
Fills the eye of my soul.
His lips move
To the words of hope:
“Farewell, my son.”

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