From Across the Straight

Rain casts valley shadows Where the line between dark and light Is distinct and infinite Thin vapours of sunshine border the distant range What appear as clouds are now only dreams The wind blows gently Fourteen shades of grey hide reality Spires stand above, alone, telling half truths A break in the weather, the storm slumbers One single note plays from a distant piano The voice hints that dreams can come true The wind blows gently Spent leaves drift silently downward From green treetops that once held promise Knowing that there is still another chance To prove reinvention is possible Without a moments hesitation The wind blows gently