A Geology of Weather
A whisper in a wind that’s gentled
By a sound you heard in a rustle of pine needles
Beside a now trickling stream in late summer
And falling leaves and a walk aware or oblivious
Of old older trails in the mountains
Dusty footprints from the past that echo
In silent canyons as shadows lengthen
Into late afternoon up the trail to the ridge
Clearing the stick from invisible webs
From his eyes he sees the ridge ahead
Catching his breath among hopes
To catch another melody at sunset
Of rustle of pine in a sighing wind
A voice in leaf and vein and sand
By a sound you heard in a rustle of pine needles
Beside a now trickling stream in late summer
And falling leaves and a walk aware or oblivious
Of old older trails in the mountains
Dusty footprints from the past that echo
In silent canyons as shadows lengthen
Into late afternoon up the trail to the ridge
Clearing the stick from invisible webs
From his eyes he sees the ridge ahead
Catching his breath among hopes
To catch another melody at sunset
Of rustle of pine in a sighing wind
A voice in leaf and vein and sand
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