By John R. Hernandez, Jr.
Random pieces of yesterday’s dreams, memories of us up on this altar; like these scattered leaves along this mountain top brushed throughout by the cold and eerie winds of winter’s soul. Lamenting always the shattered images of the fainting twilight as the noble willow arches forth its humble limbs to cast yet but another image upon the icy rivers flow, meandering to reach, to touch, to dream again. Like the barefoot child that sat upon its crown, beneath its mammoth structure, one warm September morn. Content to dream with the whooping crane that pierced into the depths, to the echo of the crickets dancing in the brush, and the prancing of fireflies, to the sweet fragrance of gardenias sprinkled among the furry whiskers of floating daffodils….