The Spring was cloudy, cold,
Perhaps like the dark sounds of human hearts,
Ticking yet coldly.
Often solace is scarce,
But the Landscapes are generous,
To share their glory, their love,
Never judging, just giving.
Oblivious of race, color and faith,
Nature ; is God.
I walk the creek, like the ancient one,
Look up in the sky and find home.
Castles of time, rock and gold,
Carved by ‘ the vanished ‘.
I remain completely still,
And listen to the echo of life,
I hear them chattering,
Happy in their ‘air castle’,
No lies, no politics, no crime,
Just the will to survive,
in harmony by the creek,
until time swallows them slowly,
and leave behind little bubbles,
of crystal clear wisdom.
If only we could understand,
What they did.