Upon a hilltop with a view to see
I sat upon a white washed wall deep in reverie.
Wind chilling, tugging at my back
The sun low casting an evening shade, drifting with time's track.
Tattered clouds in a yellowish sky out to the west
Catalina's silhouette on the horizon, peaceful and at rest.
To the north across a valley of tattered green lay pure
Mountains shadowed in muted gray by clouds in a brooding lure.
Drifting slowly over the land casting a cold, dark pall,
Yet the smell of Spring did rise to sing its sweet and joyous call.
My thoughts alone to myself likened... a reflect,
Questioning those shady, roiling thoughts that drift unchecked.
Against the wind, or maybe with, I cried out
Upon the calm subconscious of my soul's dear bout.
My silent words sent upon a chaotic wind,
God alone knows how hard I try to grow and change, to mend
Those old beliefs that bind and imprison,
And ultimately be lifted anew, the Higher Self risen.
Cold, yet yearning, to watch awhile more,
I comforted the pain with a sigh rising from my being's core.
Showers drifting, flow across the landscape,
A gentle gray wall of mist, a shimmering drape.
The setting sun's rays caught in beads of mist
Spring forth a colorful array, to parallel my life's gist.
To brighten and enliven for a short period of time
With cascading hues, iridescent and sublime.
Against the wind's chill my body's warmth fought
Thoughts of comfort to no avail I affirmed and sought.
As unbidden winds pushed near an approaching rainfall,
I alighted from my perch, this white washed wall.
Sullen and restless, unresolved, I undertook that silent roam
To return again to those sheltered roofs that I thought of as home.