Thursday, November 11, 2010

Trails - Part VI

I slept a fitful sleep,
visions of the Ancients
clouding my dreams
the bone chilling cold
of my granite mattress
poking, beating as it were
the tender places of my weary frame.

The cry of the mountain cat,
the roar of the black bear
and the scream of the eagle
breeching my vain attempt at slumber.

Dew in the highlands falls heavy
and lingers in the air
long past the breaking of dawn,
in a palpable mist that leaves you thinking,
if I could but grasp it
and separate it into strands
it could be woven
into broadcloth fit for a king.

Here the day begins,
beneath the slight overhang
of a sheer granite landing
forever high above the valley floor,
and from this place
my walk into eternal discovery
as morning has broken
with the last hoot of midnight’s vanguard
and the gentle cooing of mountain doves
returns to the trail
to see what shall be seen
and know what shall be known
step by carefree step.
Post a Comment