In the midst of travel; posting should pick up over the next few days.
Oregon Camping
Babushka pines with shawls of smoke
from glistening needles on heavy boughs
weep, and all things weep, save fire,
which, all-heedless, snaps its fingers;
it dances on the stones below.
Heartstrings
Sometimes our most heartfelt dreams
melt away like newest snow;
sometimes our true loves
pass us by in the pouring stream.
Each turn of Fortune's wheel
brings a fall with every rise
and some wounds cut so deep
even time cannot heal.
But still the starlight
shines down upon the waters
with a sparkle of wave
and the peace of night.
And sometimes our heartstrings
start to strum in the morning
as our voices in sunlight
do not falter, but sing.
Sometimes the morning dew
brings not hope but new sorrow.
Sometimes our final chance
is still one chance too few.
Sometimes the good we need
fades away like mirage or mist
and the flowers we plant and tend
are sterile in seed.
But still the moonlight
shines down from the heavens
as the stars like the shoreline sands
are all splendid and bright;
and whatever the hardship, pain, or cost,
each joy is a precious thing --
and those that are kept in heart
will never be lost.
