Shadowland
Not a whisper, nor a word,
Just one day in the fall
A brief moment in time,
where that moment, interred,
is now kept, as my own
in a frame on the wall.
Stirring my soul,
in soft shades of charcoal,
that can't fade, or be dulled,
With devotion, ....it is mine, to recall
Black arches and veins,
mottled pallets of gray,
from the trees overhead
in soft fingerlings, ......exquisitely spread.
To my depths, I'm enthralled,
and without reason, it calls,
all the breath from my lungs,.... uncontrolled
Now a season is mine,
whenever I pine,
to travel from spring, ....into fall
____________________________________________________________
From a Contest: "Black and White Film Photography"
3/5/15
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