A Poet's Journal: June 2nd, 2014
A rock shelter--cold rain and fog had turned the landscape into something so pleasingly strange, that though I know most of these paths and slopes, it could not keep me from being lightheartedly curious in my way, and drove me towards trickling creeks and hidden gullies, forever devoid of the same luster in fine weather. The season is not real today, and where I sit now, as the silence echoes off these carved walls and birds land at the foot of the cave, is a moment unpassing. Here, somehow, lives the ancient truth that things change independent of time.
Douglas Thornton
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