The Magic of Place

Tatra Mountains in Winter

We watch the fog sweep silver brush
across the greenboard mountains–
left behind? The questions unerased.
Have those mountains been misplaced?

And is the sun now blotted out
or does it shine above unchanged
despite the chill, despite our doubt?
Are elfin spirits in our range?

The folk of seaside, mountain, plain
may bend beneath the sweep of rain,
huddle round the fitful fires,
tell tales of ghosts, of magic lyres.

The stories ring beyond this age,
beyond the darkling dogeared page.
They tell us there is more to know,
a hand behind the shadowed screen.

 

© 2015 Susanne Donoghue

 

Public Domain Photo

 

an undertone
A Song of Waking