Soft Grey

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The ghosts of our lost tribes still roam our woods, especially

in a warm fog, preferring the silence of soft grey

over the noise of our cars

and the impurity of our arguments.

And in their spirits, they still chase

the deer, hunting

for peace,

carrying their wounds

unseen.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

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24 thoughts on “Soft Grey

  1. I love this – wrote a similar one years ago (never posted)….about feeling the presence of the ancient ones on our beaches on Puget Sound where they once fished. I’m happy to find someone else who is also conscious of this presence. And we must never forget…. Thank you!

    1. Thank you Betty for your beautiful comments! Yes, I feel the same way. I like your idea of never forgetting. I often think too about slaves that ran away, never making it to safety. Peace to you and wonderful blessings.

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