the chalkboard of the past
the land is much like a chalkboard
where the next story erases the story before,
and then it, too, is erased,
I like to attempt the read the smudges from before,
the depression in the land of an old road,
bits of glass and rock and metal
from which flashes of glimpse tantalize me,
I love to watch otters, wolves, elk, bear, herons
live their stories before me,
fragments of movies with no set show times,
and I just have to hope to be there for the screening,
I am intrigued by the paths that somehow led to now
and by the paths before us
with the different futures they might allow,
every moment is a mystery box
that I want to open and hold.
by Henry H. Walker
November 26, ‘20
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