at Cawdor Castle, Scotland

They’ve hedged their bets and hedged him in
a labyrinth of green and growing things.
At each opening, a trellis tells us
to come in.  The paths are straight before us,
and yet they bend, lending a sinister
tendency to our indecisiveness.
I smell flowers, hear bees, feel a tendril
of a breeze mingling with all those tangles
of thorns and leaves.  We hold hands like two waifs
lacking bread crumbs or string.  So, this is what
temptation looks like, and we are tempted.
Meanwhile, the minotaur, perched on his plinth
in the noonday sun, glowers at our own
amazement: part man, part bull, all gargoyle.         

[Deborah H. Doolittle has lived in lots of different places (including the United Kingdom and Japan), but now calls North Carolina home.  A Pushcart Prize nominee, she is the author of Floribunda and three chapbooks, No Crazy Notions, That Echo, and Bogbound (Orchard Street Press). When not writing or reading or editing BRILLIG: a micro lit mag, she is training for 5K, 10K, and half marathon road races or practicing yoga.  An avid bird-watcher, she shares a house with her husband, four housecats (all rescues), and a backyard full of birds.]