May is an uneasy month

Huddled, we lean into the wind.
We travel mute, the weather
an excuse, trying to understand
the gifts we clutch.
For me, a pair of seer stones
in a patched calico bag.
You, a jam jar of silver water.
We are grateful
as one must be under the spell
of a stranger’s generosity,
but unsure what they mean.

I am learning to read tea leaves,
slip four leaf clovers into the brew.
I fear the stones, what they could hold.
Eventually, we will move away.
You will hide the unsampled elixir
behind a mirror in the attic,
but I will take the stones
unseen, unused.