Phil Post

Waiting For The Silence

The cries of geese
have faded.
Leaves blowing
beneath the trees.
rustling, hide the passing deer,
and it begins snowing.
The path not taken,
soon enough,
disappears in white.
Sparkling stars reflecting back,
will guide us
through the night.
The seasons change
in all due time,
and winter winds will howl;
First crystals this year
gently,softly fall,
to the hooting of an owl.
The moon light, bright,
this path is lit,
so falling in a trance,
I find the silence
of my quest;
if only, just by chance.