On the Catskills

I’ve never been either, different or the same
Nothing to call growing or changing, only
Swept along from peak to sun-soused peak
Along valleys of solitude, led not by
My hand but impassable Fate.

On the Catskills, it doesn’t take belief
In God or self or mankind
Because Time flows relentless, regardless of Will.

On the Catskills, rain falls and rivers run
Intangibility bursts through the venerable pines.

Shrouded and solemn, on a morning like this—
Shrouded and solemn on a morning like this.

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~ by O'Brien on July 28, 2009.

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