In my mind’s eye I have three distinct and colored images or visions. They are primal and essential. I do not know how they emerged or formed. They are clear, unchanging, and have been with me for as long as I can remember. This is the third.

A road fades deep twilight into night
in a still and snowfallen winter wood
dark but for a hushed and pale glow
from nowhere, as light from a ghost.
Whether at the end of the road
or its beginning I do not know
only that I am neither afraid nor cold,
waiting – in silence and in thrall.

Portland, Oregon – September 11, 2019

Writing this, I cannot but think of Robert Frost’s, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”  Except for the horse and the forked road, my own mental image bears resemblance to the image in his incredibly beautiful poem.

In my mind’s eye I have three distinct and colored images or visions. They are primal and essential. I do not know how they emerged or formed. They are clear, unchanging, and have been with me for as long as I can remember. This is the second.

The promontory, solemn and lonely, forbidding and cold
meets the tumbling waves of the sea on hidden beaches
forlorn reaches under a withering lost and leaden sky.

It is a place I cannot go, it would deny me entrance there
where, forbid as all else it forbids, it stands alone
over the waves watching as a sentinel without wonder or awe
waiting as one waits for dawn when still it is deepest night.

Portland, Oregon – September 10, 2019