He Strides the Mountain

Hard edges,

translucent,

pale white skin,

hidden tapestries of life’s multitudinous freeways, carrying nutrients to the engine of thought,

Hidden,

just beyond,

portals of chestnut warmth,

observing

Careful are his words, measured and considered, rarely spoken yet reverberating all the same

Like the color of a sepia tinged photo,

his white speckled crown wrinkles,

in characteristic thought ,

He strides the mountain,

Even when that mountain is His own heart

Looking forward,

having placed to rest the past,

expeditiously the observer becomes the observed

The thinker embodies the thought

Slender fingers ,

precise and careful,

delicately strum the chords of reason,

Searching,

Seeking,

A tender, hidden smile, promising a dry and sardonic wit,

A tentative, testing confidence, perceiving the world behind the dreamers dream

He strides the mountain

Resolved,

He sets his face east,

Strong words,

promised solidity,

stolid solidarity,

He strides the mountain

Even when that mountain has yet to be discovered

A poem for my dear friend Eric