A new poem to celebrate the change of seasons with a little music.
OUR PULSE EMBODIES SPIRIT'S MUSIC
Our steps make fleeting imprints.
The masquerade will end.
The rutted footmarks fill
with tiny grains and broken bits of shell.
Summer retreats in the deceptive flame
of autumn, that grifter who steals
the hot sun’s cheerful solace,
leaving only the momentary thought
that it was here.
Wind blows, sending flurries sideways
on this sun-filled winter day.
Gusts spray snowdrifts,
wispy clouds wafting in white swirls
along the roadway. To our delight,
they lift and billow in dawn’s crepuscular rays.
The brush of migrating snow covers our tracks.
We feel we too could float into the bay.
For a moment I believe
the miracle of emptiness.
The macadam has become a cirrus-filled path.
Dazzling blue sky above us.
Ice crystals pelt my face,
melt on my breath.
An abstract art form, all of it,
into which we pour our lives.
Light rays encounter dust particles,
then change direction.
I think I’m both: particles and rays,
shifting, moving. Blind to before and after.
Dancing a pulsing cadence,
a gambol to the tune of time.
No choice but to sway to my music.