One Who Walks Within
The old track to the ridge line begins where two rivers meet, aquamarine water pulsing with oxygen, original path cut along the lines of power
December 31, 2009
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The old track to the ridge line begins where two rivers meet, aquamarine water pulsing with oxygen, original path cut along the lines of power
Light streams in our eastern windows, a soft winter brightness warming the frost covered sidewalks and Christmas morning in our old home. Ancients celebrated this
When men gather in the strong rain of the forest, the sound of the drum echoes with the music of the river, the bald scree
The earth is far from me, the comfort of the ground and presence of open water. I imagine a world of forgiveness with the power
When the last leaves fall to the fires of autumn, the slender branches fill with buds of another spring. So many Camelots lost like Avalons
The sound of the river like the rush of winter rain, mountain water flowing over ancient stones, speaking the old story. The long line father