Freespirit

Long weary miles through the mists I've wandered
with naught to my name
but what's on my back--
I cannot afford
to carry much baggage.
Yet my needs are few
and my load is light.

Home is where I lay my head
at the end of yet another day.
Neither steadfast memory
nor destination beckons.
I wrap my longings around my feet--
well shod I tread the rocky paths.

Winding path along crystal river--
waters pass their way as I go mine.
The red squirrel tramps the branches
as I smell the wildflowers nodding far below.
This path, I know, yet I've
not passed this way before.

Crying winds skirt the eves in town,
where local well drowns any thought of thirst--
washing dust and hunger.
Both drain as rivulets make their paths through pebbles
A child laughs, the sound a wind chime's music.

Two men bicker in the square--best friends
and old before their time. Too soon
the village but a sepia memory and
another oft turned page mellows to brown.
Seeking wisdom in spiderwebs, knowledge
in a leaf half breeched, I walk with eyes deep welled

soaking sounds and salted tears. No roads have I,
no map nor bed. I eat my words in stories told.
Flights of weather guide me as do scents of flowered fields.
Where tonight echoes symphonies--
rock crag audience responds in kind as
Pine boughs to the rising moon and I sleep.

Tomorrow's tales will from yesterday rise
reflecting the wild-eyed wonder of lines from
beyond the bend in the river or the bend in lives
never traveled. Then with coin for today's sustenance
I shall be gone down the road and just perhaps
I've left a seed or two behind to bloom aside the well.