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Auburn's Countenance

Full of fury I am told. Alluring passion they ascribe. "Quick to anger and quick to bed." Do not call me red! For though I lack strong resemblance to so vulgar a color I contain its inherent ire. I am of old fervent for what I seek. Esau sold his birth rite for a pot of beans. Henry VIII in desperation sealed the fate of seven wives. I am Vikings and Picts and Highlanders fighting to the death for freedom. I am fierce and will not go quietly. Though you may cast your aspersions I cannot be ignored nor can I be stopped.

No, I am neither plebian nor unassuming. I am regal. I have crowned the heads of kings and queens in locks of ruddy gold to shame their diadems of jewels. For I am bestowed by none other than the very God himself.

No one can hold my reins. I am the Roan who will bear you upon his back and speed you to places not yet encountered. I am the auburn-haired setter who will feed your family with partridge and grouse. I am the chestnut, cinnamon, and ginger that bring flavor to an unpalatable life. Savor me. Delight in my ardor for it is contagious but also ephemeral. For I am also the autumnal leaf who recognizes her life consumed and must repent and relent, carried away by the wind and trod underfoot to feed those who will rise in a distant day.


© 2006 Glenda Rogers