In the meadow The breeze turned this way and that, Or it stopped altogether, Starting up again on a whim. I could hear the leaves in the tops of the Aspens Chattering with excitement Long before I could feel anything where I stood. I thought about her in that moment, How quick to turn, or how peaceful and still, How eager to begin new things. She always seemed to know what was coming next, Smiling with anticipation Before I knew anything was going on. Granite sentinals stood watch here and there, Immoveable gaurds of the meadow, Anchors against the eroding forces of weather. I had stood watch for her, it seemed to me, Gaurding her peace and joy Against the fears and discouragements of life. Using only the thin needles on their branches, Each casting a mere suggestion of a shadow, Conifers provided welcome shade. Dry, spent needles and cones of another season, Fallen now from their lofty origins, Softened my tread like a rich carpet. She had been like that. When she could offer No more than a mere suggestion of her love, The number of her suggestions made it real. And in later seasons of the lives she touched, After the passions of the moment are long passed, The memories of her acts still comfort. The temple that housed her beautiful spirit, Broken and no longer habitable, Rests. She awaits now the signal trumpet of her King, The arousing call to a celebration, The invitation to the wedding. I wont come again to this meadow on this mountain. It has had its say and I have listened, And I will remember what I heard. The breeze blows in other meadows on other mountains And none of us can know where it comes from And none of us can know where it goes. I will visit these other meadows. I will feel these other breezes. I will listen. And I will remember. Bob Lewis, 14 September 2014
Posted on: Sun, 14 Sep 2014 14:17:23 +0000
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