…of the past

Water splashing
down stone steps
fanciful meandering rivers
the colours of the hours
a delicate waking hue
through the gold of morning

shadows swimming
over turquoise skies
constant rain on the calm sea
gentle winds of time
like the slow drift of a cloud
across an empty space
it twists and turns

soft footprints etched
in yesterday’s sand
half-lost, half-remembered
a song that once played
in the corners of my mind
faded whispers call to me
a once closed door, suddenly ajar

what is revealed and unrevealed
in the flowered pathways
of the past
is infinitesimally slow
year in, year out, echoing
a silence that is deep
and ages long
© Ann Bagnall