Borderland

Centuries of the same tired words

reverberate through time, never fraying

the seasons and hours of the day parsed out by man

nature’s eternal rhythms ignored or manipulated

creating monsters in their place,

leaving us to cry out, with hearts as dry as any windswept desert

longing for the cleansing rain.

Rain, so soft, it caresses parched skin and cracked lips,

falling like a gentle tattoo on ancient skin drums,

their sound taking us far away from the bits and bytes

of this modern world,

calling to the nomadic spirit hidden deep inside

to finally shake us from our slumber

awakening the wild within.

Nature’s eternal rhythm of shadow and light captured on beautiful Haro St. here in the West End of Vancouver, B.C.

 

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