Have you ever noticed how the shape
of the Earth always seems to be asking
Sometimes it's just teasing us; others,
asking the most serious questions of all.
The way a...
trail folds into the gentle turn
of a hill, half a mile from a lonely shack,
each morning asking,
"Is someone coming? Is someone coming?"
Or a long day's journey over endless spring
snow and rugged scree, an unexpected
green meadow, small pond,
a soft-spoken query, hesitant, like a
shy young man asking,
"Aren't you going to spend the night?"
And further to the East, irresistible, pulling
one towards it like the edge of an airy cliff,
a huge V-like opening cut straight through
the high walls of a granite ridge,
"A way through to the other side?"
The possibility of a passageway.
It's there. Ever-present. Massive.
Written in the rocks.
| Listen to The Passageway |
(Photo: Last Light, Looking East; the Alps)
| go to Picture/Poems: Central Display | go to Week VII: PicturePage |
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(Created: IV.7.1999; Last update: III.4.2002)
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