Sunsets.
Pine tree'd mountain lakes.
Autumn twilight.
The smell of woodsmoke
and fallen leaves.
The feel of your hand, the look in your eyes.
The smell of freshly baked bread, the sweat of passion.
The cocophony of city traffic, the silence
of a country lane.
A chocolate shake when you're ten, the agony of
fumbled teenaged love.
Church on sunday, your father's funeral.
Your first new car, your last cigarette.
Winter mornings. The coast of Maine.
Small children, dogs, cats.
The heights of ecstacy exploding sunward
Icarus-like, to fall.
the depths of dispair, plunging into the stygian
valley of death.
Reincarnation, memories of other lives and loves
swirling through my senses,
feeling, being.
Why did I die?
So that I might live.
In Peace, Light and Love,
Alan in Toronto
quanah@user.rose.com