The Spirit Of Tempest

I travel aimlessly and lonely as the rain filled clouds Float over the valleys and hills in the Santa Ynez Valley This early December day.

The stormy wind and rain sounding like rhythmic music Round me, temperatures falling, days shortening, sunshine Fading, slowly...the storms of life weave throughout our lives, Interlacing their way leaving remnants of life built long ago.

I amuse myself with solitude, mishap, have I made me a Friend with nature. Leaves dying, revealing their true selves. Falling, soft at first, then dry and fragile. Here the wind-swept Trees flutter and dance. I look to the hills, shall I go. Shall I wade Through the water, the wind and feel the storm rebel. Shall I climb The mountain while the spirit of tempest walks at my side.

I gaze and I look at the mountain top...little thought as I grow old, So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man. My winged soul shall fly away; examining lone departed years Soaring on to future scenes, so distant still, and lately dimly seen With winter's coldness on my heart. How can my spirit soar away, Confined by such a chain as this...can it change with darkness While in sorrow and unsullied joy, can years flame in bitter wind Turn back years towards warmth and passion as all our dying Dreams are born again...nights for which one yearns just a Taste of what change is to come?

Change...veils its wings, evidence of paradise. Such beauty As you hope to see, can it make a sacrament to be. Will it give Wings their will and words their song? Perhaps it was the wind That sang like angels anchored in the rain filled sky, love haunting, Hurting, healing, worse, an anguished joy one can not reverse. So long as blood still burns

Larry R. Rankin, December 3, 2014

Wave of Emergence