Thursday, July 16, 2015

Three Miles South of The Saddle

O Wind of the hills!

ambling through naked trees

take my cares
let them ride Your waves
dispense them into tiny worlds
so they know their smallness
in the vast expanse

transform them
narrow to wide
let them feel the rain
to become ice crystals
on display
creating every color of the bow
hope for eyes to see

O Wind!

power that transcends
the essence of our matters

january 23, 2oo9


It was a winter's day.
Cold. Windy. Ice crystals in the air.
As I stood beside my vehicle parked on the side of the Blue Ridge Parkway, three miles south of The Saddle.
I had to stop there because the Parkway was closed at that point. Ice and snow were on the road north.

The wind is forever blowing across Saddle's ridge.

Other poems composed while upon The Saddle...

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