…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