Wasn’t it thunder woke the child On a storm shaken night in the wood After flashes of fear cast its shadows Flashed on rain splattered windows (Alone)
Voices call crying asking for answers Turnings are hollow and filled with remorse Footfalls seem strangely awakened before All of the memories scuttled and falling (Teardrops)
Reverberations remaining bring shivers to bone Reflections of summer’s tides ebb to the sea Reason recalling the shadows and light Recanting the proof found written in clay (Resounding)
Is there another place to call home Not an hour or minute left to spare the remorse Seasons return as a gift out of time Borne on the voices heard by the wind (Listen)
We are the wind as are the pines breathing the light casting shadows on the life they leave beneath them as if forgiveness falls with every needle into a blanket of love nurturing new earth outside of time knowing no ebb of the seasons only whispers and rhythms of boughs singing in the wind her roots rising through grace to touch the sky
grandfathersky 