Always called to remember the 'once-was'...
Old winds blow through canyons carved by time
bringing hints of worlds beyond distant horizon,
scenting of worried rocks scoured by dust
reminding me of how change is wrought.
Old waters dance in cool, hidden glades
in their rush from spring to sea,
carrying tastes of far away places,
a poem of change and sameness.
Old sounds reverberate off towered granite,
echo across the valley of remembrance
touching thoughts of yesterday and tomorrow:
a song of the ancients.
Old leaves crackle into dust underfoot
blown over streaming waters, down cascading falls,
pummeled into a life slurry of moments
connected, refracted then washed once more to shore.
Old winds blow the mutterings of the ancestors
to swirl and eddy where they spark new growth
or sound the trumpets of morrow time, still,
ever dancing to the heartbeat of my soul.
Inspired by a line from a Craig Johnson book in the Longmire series....