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    • CommentTimeDec 28th 2011
    Fellow travelers, share the path with me
    I walk here in the whispered hum
    Listening to the distance, that I might see
    The air tastes soft and from the plum tree
    A few dark leaves are pushed by rain

    It is easier to be alone, to find
    A private wilderness in this end
    Of December, of the year, the hind
    Days after Christmas, before we send
    The old calendar to its peace

    The houses hide the people, tuck
    Them close in under their eves
    And they say the paths have too much muck
    And the snow's canister too large sieves
    To share the path just now

    But I come out into the air
    And the winds are soft today
    The grey stillness of the sky is fair
    And a few birds stay to whistle by the way
    Not a wild glory, but a glory still

    The smell of wet leaves hanging faint
    The rustling willows are chimes
    Water streaks on trees - dark paint
    And here in these muted rhymes
    A traveler's peace.

    But share the path with me.
    Your path sounds intriguing, but cold. Brrr. I think I'll bring a sweater, if you don't mind? It's a beautiful picture of a cold rainy day, and someone who ventures out to enjoy it anyway. -- Dry Anemone