High in the pines the rising night wind lifts me awake
to stars and silhouettes of shifting trees,
their boughs alive with a passing spirit
whose deep sounding stirs in me
an older, vaster spirit
streaming from the source of time --
spirit that breathed those trees into being,
the ground that holds them as they sway,
and I who lie here listening,
told in a tongue I almost know
of where I came from and what I am,
how the power that imagined me moves through me
and beyond, far past my own imaginings
of what is, and beautiful the flowing of its song.
From: All Things Touched By Wind
Copyright John Daniel: All Rights Reserved
"Fall Colors in the San Juan Mountains"
by: J. Owen
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