A whisper…
the caress of a gentle breeze
on the nape of your neck.
The stillness
of the breath of night,
a lone bird in the distance,
wailing,
calls to me,
this song.
Running along dew-damp grass,
I search for you
singing back a song of oneness,
though not of one.
Feet bare,
emerald blades brush my skin,
gently,
adding to this chorus,
a most glorious union,
a beacon of illumination,
rumbling ground,
thousands come to heed the call.
Our tribe has gathered once again.
The fireside smoke rises,
calling tired warriors back home.
Autumn permeates the air.
What is above is below,
what is below is beside,
what is beside is beneath,
what is beneath is inside,
what is inside is the sound of the moonlight,
like the caress of a gentle breeze
on the nape
of your neck.
More at http://www.suemarie.info. and Mari at https://www.facebook.com/Wryrwmn.