Pastor Peter was all a’flutter. There was the baby. There were the parents. There was the baptismal font. And there was Mick Mooney, to whom he had given bottled water for the font, boasting a malicious grin. The unopened bottle stood, tragically, on the chancel rail. Peter prayed, opened the font. It was filled to the brim. Afterwards, he confessed his surprise to the happy couple. “Oh, that was me,” the new mother said. “I just wanted to say a prayer over the font before the service began when I saw it was empty. I didn’t do wrong, did I?”
When I left her yesterday the black was in her hair the gold was in her eyes and she spoke of fathers and unmourned sons but now she freezes the air like a stray from bygone forests and primordial paths looking at me like a traveler she’d warned before of hazardous roads and one in particular where red foxes appear to startle the unwary from perilous paths and slipping slopes of memory but for the shibboleth: Mother? You’re safe.
I somehow missed posting on this prompt from Sarah of dVerse who chose quotes from a book for us to use as poem titles.
"She said if a red fox had crossed somewhere, that area was safe" was the one I chose.
Click on Mr. Linky for more.
Image credit: https://www.pexels.com/photo/mother-and-daughter-on-grass-1683975/