I longed for this. Mist and silence.
I found it here among the hills where no one lives.
The long roads through farms of hay.
The house windows, like ghost eyes, looking out. I can’t see in.
I am alone here.The sound of birds.
The ripples of dreams in the streams. So much water.
Wandering, whispering, speaking in song.
Fluttering for eternity. Unaware.
The language of magic. Just to be.
Streams to the river.
I have craved this place and yet found little here.
That was the point.
To find nothing. Only me.
I found that.
The hill. So big. My dream come true.
I like them big. But small is so much easier.
Pushing me, I keep going. Keep going. Pull the invisible rope. Breathe through.
I will make it to the top. I always do.
No matter what past or present pulls me back,
makes it hard,
I continue on,
because I am.
I make it to the top and there is air
and a view
and I am well.
Where are you?
I listen for you in the wind. On the road. I can hear you speaking so clearly.
See you and the dark, with such promises of light.
The trees breathe and sway, singing of something.
A story of next. Of before. I can’t really tell. But it is a lovely verse.
And though I can not quite make it out, I know it is right and I know it is now.
And I realize the you I am waiting for is me.
Which is disappointing.
The truth of it.
There is only me on this hill top. Even when I am with you.
Escaped for some time from the tower,
but lost all the same.
Maybe when I go back, I will remember what freedom wanting is.
Then I can focus on dreams.
Here is the limitless nothing of possible, silence and mist.