Memories Of The Last Crossing

Eyes watch the setting sun ... move slowly
behind the mountains ahead, beyond the lake
Reflected light traces paint the watery tapestry ...
Barely a ripple moves; the waters are still,
The air is silent, cooled by hints of approaching autumn ...

The crunch of pebbles
As the watcher wanders the lake shore;
Leaving behind a copse of trees,
Catching the gentle breeze now from off the lake;

The light fading now, fading away ...
The promise of a warming fire then;
Later; orange red flames reach upwards
Into the total blackness of night;
Shivers evaporated by the protection of fire;

Its primal imagery forming images in the mind,
Memories lost alive then in resurgence ...
Images of rocky walls haunted by shadows,
As blazing torches bounce their light of cavern walls ...
A company of travellers deep in the earth; taciturn lips; desperate thoughts ...
A silent passage deeper and deeper into the bowels away from the world of the living ...
Entering a larger hall ... lit with pastel red ... filled with laughter and sounds of life ...
Faces coming close; drawn into focus ... dark eyes glaring with accusation ...

A shift back in awareness; it is the dead of night once more;
Beside the lake ... an eerie place
An overwhelming feeling of waiting; of presence; of total peace ...
Tranquility and well being transcending all other thoughts...

A place of ancient communion ...
Expectant eyes scan the heavens for signs;
Seeing the great star nation then on a cloudless night ...
Bowed recognition then for the ancestors ... and for known stars ...
Eyes beholding then a new light ... a new visitor in the sky; the brightest light;
Above the horizon ... the sign foretold in elder prophecy; finally coming to pass ...
Many years of tradition and fruitless vigils .... until now ...
As the wanderer finally makes its return; desperate times now ahead
For when the crossing comes to pass ... there is only destruction and desolation ...

This he knows only too well ...
For memories of other lives are active in his mind;
As it has always been ... passed down from generation to generation
A living, working tradition that has survived since the time of the last great flood
And he ... stands in awe of the first sign; as he had done in previous lives.
He stands ... turns back to the fire ... and pulls out a blazing torch;

Realising then the significance of the vision previously;
Memories telling of one of the last time the crossing returned ...
And the bitter life of survival deep in the bowels of the earth;
Because the land had been claimed once more by sea ...........