The walls stand as a final barrier to whatever comes beyond.
The light of the dying sun picks out the cracks and the gaps in its solidity. Green tufts emerge from tiny spaces, finding a home in impossible places.
It feels so final, bringing to an end this long walk. This road at least is done. Shadows fade and all is weary.
Hands reach out and play across the stone, touching the roughness. The history of deep birth and pain filled watching. Light fingers connecting to an ending.
He looks and smiles, an incomplete smile. Filled with words and fears, but flowing with rooted, grounded love.
We stand together by the wall, wanting so much to knock at the gate. But needing this moment. needing to pause and look and touch this ending. Before the inevitability of the night.
So much weight, it is all so heavy.
The journey has both drained and bound us. We have been rod and staff for each other, guiding, steadying, guarding hearts. Carrying each other, carrying so much. Each night in the dark we held, and fingers that now brush brutal stone, gently met and assured.
This has been a road where we have been made. Where youth was lost, where we grew into each other. Spirits now so intertwined that separation is beyond even cruel dream.
It began in dreams and vision, and ends with uncrushable reality.
We saw the rivers and rocks, the barren places and today we walked through mountain fields rich with life. So close to the holy place. We felt it near, we saw it on the edge of earth, but it was not our ending, we turned and walked on.
The sun has now washed away from even the lowest stone, Our feet stand in the last pink of today. All there is now is to move into the time that is between. Find space to be and to wait again, wait for what rides in on tomorrow.
One path is done, the next is to come.
PICTURA POESIS 