Seasons – Page 108

alone on the dock-
staring into the remnants
of the setting sun
–
skipping stones-
bats take wing
before the moon

rolling scottish hills
flecked with distant spots of white
between far stone walls
–
waist high grass-
curious lambs
approach the gate

battlements of stone
rough hewn from the living rock
ever standing guard
–
howling wind
seeking refuge behind
these stone walls

standing in a queue
at the end of my patience
quite unlike this line
–
wind blown sagebrush-
the road I’m on ends
at the horizon

high above the clouds
all my worries down below
so far behind me
–
steaming tarmac-
a double rainbow
delays our flight

last minute details
awhirl with activity
all before we leave
–
fog rolling in
light rain falling
obscuring the jetway

in the overgrowth
well worn by the hands of time
forgotten tombstones
–
by the window
waiting, staring
at the falling snow

sailing the narrows
navigating the graveyards
of nameless seamen
–
rising tide-
waves break
on hidden shoals

streaks of wispy clouds
paint dry brushed on the canvas
of the evening sky
–
shadows of trees-
crickets by
my open window

dwelling in the past-
bricked up in this house of pain
my arm, my jailer
–
a wasp’s sting-
repeated lies
no longer told