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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The ravens swarm before me above the railroad tracks I walk downriver pilgrim toward silent wilderness, away from more civilized savagery, pre-revolutionary, I fear, as they chatter and clatter flap their wings roosting and dry clatter bones stalking me, inviting me to continue forward. And so I continue with their chatter clatter now fluttering and twittering off and on to my left among barren February trees warning of something not urgent yet hungry poignant memories for my ears to hear and eyes to see and follow, then walk along side as they back away, leaving a visible border of watching naked trees, silent witness of our journey's flight. Now they follow to my left side, and behind, encouraging me to continue on, but not too far for they have a place to show me, much like their voices sound a rushing early spring brook, water chattering against rock, rain dropping loudly on my cold tin roof. Rain comes, enjoying our sounds while I am here to witness this black river of clatter chatter. I am ahead of them now, looking across the river through the woodland and raucous swell toward quiet, pause to swell again, like summer's nighttime crickets. They roost behind me, watching with me what is about to pass from upriver, uptrack, up time's revolution of haunting mystery. While not urgent, they sound like memories of starving bones for richer deeper quieter upriver times, a pause in stormy visions and fluttered reminders, then off we are again. They on their journey, leaving me to remember ours.
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