The first night?
A different night?
The last night?
The only night?
A different night?
And who would have thought
We could have flown so high,
Got so far; fragile bone frames
Wrapped in simple rags?
The first night?
A different night?
The last night?
The only night?
A different night?
And who would have thought
We could have flown so high,
Got so far; fragile bone frames
Wrapped in simple rags?
Something magical about the air in Upper Austria. Altitude? For sure, but also freshness and sparkling light. Amazing skies throughout the livelong days. Sunrise with pinks, lilacs, golds and pale blues hovering over the mountains and forested hills.
Making walking the wanderweg (paths) a treat. Not anywhere near cold, but crisp, clean and invigorating. Not the steep challenge of more serious Austrian Tyrol/Wildekaiser landscapes but gentle, wide walkways, sometimes beside rarely used roads, sometimes alongside quiet, therapeutic streams, the borders of newly turned farmland or through friendly forests. Oh and no snow yet, just end of season glorious warmth, meaning a T-shirt was enough once I had warmed up.
Equinox-near morning
Is darker than those of late.
The tack-carry walk passes
In glorious, spiritual-dawn silence.
Blond panther in beggar-black rain
Is pacing beautiful blue-silver
Dapple paths that stretch
From then to beyond
On velvet-whisper pads.
Unseen by even the cat,
Man, still-sitting on
Drum Back mountain stack
Watches it all unfold once again;
Hearing music in the
Tiny perfect silences,
Feeling tears drawn out
Of history’s eyes.
5/9/2013
Paths we chose,
Or chose to ignore,
Words we don’t,
Advice we heed,
Knowledge we avoid.
To this very day,
Though we be friends –
And more –
I know not which path
You picked:
Rainbow, bridge,
Or ford.
8/5/2012
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Gunn4