In Time, the mystery will reveal itself to me.
I search for answers in the dark corners where there is no light.
Whispers of ancient minutes gone by whisk the air I breathe.
In the doorway of minutes to come, I am released.
Stillness reminds me of the exiting Autumn,
its crispness kissing my cheeks pink.
Turning to the mountain, the brightness of the New Winter blinds my good eye,
tears gracing my face as to anoint.
The quiet of the house, the singing of the fire, the distant drone
of a motorcycle passing on 138.
All to comfort my restless soul,
the wanderlust dance twirling
in the looming night fall.
by Erin Deirdre Cain
December 3, 2009