Alone: February 2001
Standing, shawl clad
On the edge of winter.
Sultry summer sun
Replaced by the crystalline stillness that envelops all this land.
The wind calls
Bitter in its blowing
Painful in its cold as it enters my throat.
Wandering, beside still waters
Wondering
When shall the promised rest arrive?
The mountain stands
A venerable patriarch
That has o’er looked this sene many a-time before
The waves lap, quickly
The stirred beating of a heart of endless antiquity.
Damp sands replace the turf and moss
And an ominous roar approaches from the west
Trees sway to and fro
Pounded by the wind
As the surf pounds the cliffs beside me.
Silver shafts of rain
Strike, and I shiver,
Awed by the majesty around me.
Raging, does the earth call,
Every grass blade a-tremble
Some passionate emotion
grips the heavens.
I stand
the one calm beacon,
untroubled,
yet, I stand
Alone.