The Course

The Course

Mine is the fountain of the winds,
that glorious whorl of happenings
pursuing one another, chasing of
the leaves so carefully laid down
as plans and dreams and victories
far gone or still to come, or faded
fast away in disillusionment.

I wear the garment of the visitor
upon the hill, the novice on the green,
not so much confused as
dazzled by the pace of cosmic rush
upon my little universe
where once tranquility was queen.

Mine are the rising waters
cast in peril rather than as grace.
Mine is the face of questioning
upon the headlong child
who found himself half reaching back
to grasp the pre-dawn shadows,
still compelled to march into the sun.

It is a time to celebrate the doubt,
not to lament. It is that prime ingredient
that may transform existence into life,
the first and final breath into
a festival of everlasting spring.

Mine are the verdant mountaintops,
their offering a panoply of view
to stretch the heart,
to heat and cool the veins
with love and fire and joyous lust
and at the last, contented rest.
~