My pen moves slowly upon the page--
deliberate, hesitant.
How can feelings be written, read, understood?
Certainly not by the words themselves,
but between the lines light is shed.
My spirit sings within
and those nearest hear
who with caring transform the song
into music sweet and clear.
Unlike the tourist in a busy shop
encountering strangers viewed but once,
you, my friend, link arms with mine
and at morning begin a walk into my heart.
You behold the sun dawning
showing forth my face by day;
in this light the sky is fair
and the grass is green.
Tis' when the sun is at high noon,
you squint and my smile is hard to see.
Only the wind's song distills knowledge
of thundering clouds in the distance.
The grip upon my arm tightens.
I steady myself,
and lean toward you;
we buffet the breeze together.
The sun as it bends low
finds our walk mostly over.
The grass no longer green
is edged in blue shadows.
Before your hold loosens upon my arm,
your other arm comes around and embraces me.
At sunrise we were unknown by the other,
but not so at sunset.
As you go your way and I go mine,
we remain connected.
Peace and joy abound in knowing you cared
to become my close friend, discover my heart,
and treasure the music with me of another dawn.
*I wrote this in the late 90's and tweaked it today. I had been thinking of a good friend who is moving on Tuesday. I will miss our morning walks together often with other good friends in the neighborhood. Thank you for your smiling face, caring heart, listening ear, and words of wisdom!
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