RisenGold

A motor, a constant drone in my ears, unworried and unhurried. Broken caw, caw-caws drift on the chill sea winds and mists. Behind this, and behind that, and around all the silence settles, all the more tightly. It clings, it smothers. Oppressive and dark, tearing and wrong for a tranquility that should reside. A quiet that claims, whispers, burning the heart and stinging the eye. A life comes, a life goes. And goes, all the harder for a life lived full. The fog rises with the sun, sleeps with the moon. Rises and sleeps, rises and sleeps, rises, and sleeps. A cycle to be turned, as day to night the world passes, tick

I feel a hint of cold in the air, in the woods, remembering the heat of days gone by. The peace of forgotten times echoes through the hills: birds sing, squirrels chitter, bees hum, winds whistle. As I walk, I listen to the trees. There’s a creaking, a groaning, a muttering and moaning. I hear the stream bubbling, burbling, murmuring. Nearby, tall grasses hiss and swirl with the wind. Around me, the world prepares for a long sleep, for the blanket of snow, for the calm of cold, for the coming of winter. I hear a rush of air brushed by the bright, delicate wings: the monarch, just flown. Leaves whisper overhead as some fall,