a morning walk in the land of my ancestors
Biltmore Estate, Asheville, North Carolina
©trryan September 2012
Softly it wraps around the world;
Dreams still float upon the air,
Not yet ready to loosen their memory.
Quietly I step outside,
The sleeping world unaware that I am there;
Above me the sky is still dark,
Stars still glimmer, but the moon is low.
All about me the air is hushed,
Breezes gently ruffle my hair; caress my cheek
First morning song of the lark gently wafts across the valley,
Seems for me she sings alone.
In the east there now is a faint luminescence,
A hint of pearly tones etch the edges of the tree crowned hills;
Strong and tall they await the coming,
Of a new day, filled with promise.
More light gently flows westward,
Now across the valley I see a vision;
The hills are wreathed in a living mist,
It moves, touches each thing in it's path.
The sky now is filled with glorious colors,
blue, cerise, lavender, the hues of dawn;
Mists slowly ebb backward into the forests,
Retreating, going home to await the night once again.
My prayers are now said,
Sage smoke still spirals to the heavens;
I touch the ground gently in a gesture of gratitude,
As Grandfather Sun now has risen over the hill tops.
The wispy mists now are gone,
No longer can they be seen anywhere;
Birdsong echoes from hillside to hillside,
The morning well greeted.
Peacefulness surrounds the Great Smokies;
Was it mist I truly saw,
Or was it old ones, keeping watch through the night?