beneath branches with wide knuckles, where leaves would normally chatter, a soft breath comes over the green of the lake, calming the pulse of a modern man
a wooden bench to rest on is chosen randomly, to claim a pause from the fury of the world, to watch the stillness that beckons those who just can’t focus
with his own story he stays alone, a dialogue of millennium nonsense, his thoughts skimming across the water, beneath the eyes of a church on the hill
a rumbling from beneath seems to stir the past, inviting old footsteps and shadows to make themselves known, long forgotten moments eager to flicker
room is made for a soldier and his weeping bride, for a mother welcoming home an errant daughter, and for a young lad looking forward to 1900
Copyright, 2006. Shameless Words.