GONE AWAY |
Edna K. (Katie) Gammill |
The Huntsman blows the "Gone
Away", all reach a fever pitch. It is the walls that speak to me and pictures of her past. Deaf ears hear the baying hounds and blessing of the hunt, eyes seek the crimson tail of the feral fox. At the height of autumn, the way to start the day is tree trunks etched upon a sky where pink hues lead the way. She rubs traitorous knees and turns her back on time, ribbons spill from tarnished cups, her velvet hat denies dust, a cinder track where colors flash relieve her weary mind. A captive of aging flesh, her mind fresh falling snow is keen as wind and begs to ride, but has no place to go. The morning curse is winter teeth that gnaw on summer bones. Her couch and chair but crutches, still she struggles on. Her arms strengthened by the reins, legs weaker with each stride, once clutched silken hunters filled with pulsing power. White hair and knowing eyes are wise beyond my years. She vows she wouldn't change one day and prays her time is near. Give her hounds around her feet and wind cutting her face, a "leg up", her favorite mount will boldly lead the chase. Give her a final wall to clear and she will bravely greet destiny where time stands still and Huntsmen blow the "Gone Away". 'Tis there she longs to be. |
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