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Footpath

In suspension, waiting

to feel the storm below,

I watch it churn and roll and tumble

indigo.

It’s the thrill before the fall

that cuts these lights so sharply

from the shades.

In the depth of this stark stillness

the light around the forest leaves

is infinite,

and the colours seem now sharper

from this height.

When the loneliness starts biting,

let it bite

and it will bleed out lovely sadness;

beautiful like violins

on winter mornings;

Lovely like that face I saw

in fading light,

in fading love.

I want to find that footpath

that will lead me from the city,

and through wind and rain and hail will not turn back.

Will you bear my eager feet across

the endless golden fields of summer,

over jutting peaks that touch the sky in autumn;

across the hills and valleys of the winter,

to where the forest spirits hum

in dappled light in spring?

In spring, in love,

a perfect love

that will never fade.

Let’s find a brooke that giggles softly,

lovely, like a child;

we’ll follow it together,

until it grows through many seasons to a roar!

And by the time we watch it open up

and out into the sea,

we will have grown old; old friends,

our skin lined with all the tales of our travels.

I will rest my tired feet

and we will rest our tired bones

upon the coast.

The sun will set over the water,

and the stars that we have grown to know

so well will kiss our cheeks and say

“goodnight.”

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