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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