Glastonbury

Stones do not reflect on branch of thorn descendent.
Voices echo not where lines are fallen.
Hope lies scattered 'neath matted flags.

Staff of mourners give not freedom to partake.

Yet that descent is not echoless entire.

And blades, though woven, shall permit to pass.

Imperfect/conditional

If I died but imperfectly
Would that be conditional?

Or if, in the present, my life should ebb
Would my sleep be present, future
Or imperative?

These are the questions most fitting,
But ask them not of me, for
My knowledge is weak.
A croque-mort francais,
He would know.

Hope, Peace, Vision

Hope can endure
Peace can sustain
Vision can preserve

But what can cleanse Vison clouded by frozen tears?
Or Peace corrupted by the questions of humanity?
Or Hope once lost in the embrace of darkened fields?

There the birds' sweet questionings are silent.
There the Vision gathers Peacefully, embedded with the only Hope it has ever known.
There nothing shakes,
and unperturbed
we sleep, all silent.

Hope, I had a vison,
And gathered with you there,
I saw a thousand crystals
Meeting in the air.

Had I known but sooner
What weight can shower down,
Those crystals I'd much rather
Bury in my crown.

Stones of witness

One wonders about things sometimes. Like what exactly the people who erected Stonehenge were thinking. Alas, we from them are far too removed, we can only guess. So guess we do.

The man offers

Feeble stones

Before the sun

they are still

And small

And yet they rest

Alert

Several more fleeting minutes and we are headed to England. I wonder what I shall find there? Shall I find what I have imagined? Or shall I find something very different? We shall see.

Autumn

Never forget that you, as a creature, are part of something very beautiful.

When I consider the heavens

Looking to the stars it a habit that we all should practice. As Nathaniel Bowditch's mother once told him (or so the story goes roughtly remembered) 'looking up at the stars shrinks our own troubles down to size'