Tonight I slip between the shadows
A mere shade moving quietly between the trees
Inhaling the forest rot, the fecund stench of nature
Transforming into yet another iteration
Raw and real
The sharp slap of winter’s hand
Wakes me from my slumber
As I climb towards the heights
Overhead the nearfull moon rips through the tattered clouds
Canyons of translucent possibility
Revolving over an axis
Some vast whirlpool of wind
Cracking its whip
And I listen to the hums and murmurs of the city
Sirens and traffic
Wind in the trees
Against the backdrop of the silence of eternity
Illuminated by opaque cloudbanks
I wonder at the grand design
Grateful for this moment of serenity
David Trudel © 2012
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