memory – Picking Up Roots

Here

a whisper of salt
rides the coattails
of the wind
up
from the pristine blue;

it is the scent of memories,
too many to count
or relive in this moment,

so I sit
on a hard bench
in the welcome warmth
of the sun's afternoon glow,
staring out at the water,
gazing back through time,
wondering where it has gone,
happy I'm here now

A Muse

you slipped past
as I was on the brink of sleep,
you were dancing
at the edge of my mind -
you were beautiful,
graceful in your perfect movements -
I told myself
I would never forget you;
you live on
as a shadow of memory

Tradition

we gather

the fire pops and crackles,
children's feet patter across the floor,
muted conversations hum
interrupted by roars of laughter
at stories well told
and reminiscences well made;

bodies are stooped and straightened,
faces are lined and brightened,
time has made its marks;

nothing has changed,
everything is different,
this place is emptier,
still it bursts with love