The cold, dry wind whips around me
As I stand on the gray hill
I overlook the cemetary
The cold stones stare back at me
The dark gray clouds loom before me
I look behind me, a break in the clouds
The sunlight streaming through a crack
The colors streaming through the land
The people down there
Stop and watch as the warmth spreads
Yellow golden waves of light
The green, soft grass
The sound of laughter
The tinkling of bells
I turn back around
Back to the dead
Back to the dry, dead leaves
Crumbling stones
Hard faces
The cold wind whips around me
Drying my face, freezing my heart
The gray mountain before me
The golden valley behind me.
I pause, looking behind me
I pause, looking ahead.
The dry leaves swirl around the ground
The ground of cold, gray dirt
Of crumbling stones
Of dying dreams
posted by Val at 8/04/2001 09:36:00 PM
