Looking Out and Looking In

A medium view from the top of the hill

No distant volcanic peaks in sight

Yet full enough

Endowed with mystery beneath the leafy streets

Overhead, a windlord soars the thermal updraft

While closer yet the swallows dart with fluid grace

The traffic thrums, although unseen

My thoughts settle from the chaos of the day

Coming softly to a gentle rest

And I whisper, as soft as the breeze

The promise of your name

And I’m answered with contentment and soon enough



Trepidation, and

A sense of Christmas morning creep

Is it time?


David Trudel  © 2012


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