Cat tracks
in the snow,
steady across the fence line,
past the old tool shed
with rusty scythes still hanging
and saws shining red
as the door slowly creaks open
and the first Light in years
land upon a wooden tool box,
full of moss covered
implements of fine construction;
an artisan's tools, no doubt,
a grace, refinement about them
and I almost shout as I smile,
a slow tear forms;
I am transformed,
in buckskin back again I go
and turn towards the door
the wind had blown open;
go without Thought, without Fear,
without any sense of the Real,
for these are the Moments
I steal from the Infinite...
Time does stand still,
a Lifetime stands before me;
chairs in different stages
of completion hang
from above and line the walls;
dizzy, dazed I stumble,
to the closest chair I humbly sit,
solid as a rock,
I am consoled...
Jan. 27, 2015
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