Mind Flight

The forest path pretends a voice of purpose through distraction, birds sound their curious intent, and then the voices all around will cease to be, time slows down, the lake too far away to break the spell. There when the leaves were down, I bought the measure of an ending that would crush a saint, a wild cry inside me, resonating in a memory engraved in pain that only I could know. Late autumn is the time for gathering not only of the harvest, but the fruits of loss, the tearing, grinding resignation of the sundered heart, ever too obtuse to understand Then it is one may perceive the place within, the soft retreat that speaks a stranger tongue— a flight from mindlessness to that familiar silent hovering. A restless peace it is, but on another plain, with still another kind of joy that glows behind the sunset clouds. There is a promise still to come that one may count upon— to be sure, as yet unknown. The flight is past. The mind is home. ~