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The Whistling Pines
Every unplanned journey began with leaving,
Each and every mile carrying me farther away.
Between sleepless nights and frozen time,
The whistling pines followed me like witnesses.
Their faint voices moved with the passing wind,
Soft enough to make the gentle sadness bearable.
I thought the lane was only taking me somewhere,
Never knowing it was also taking something from me.
Now, through the silver years gone by, I pass them,
Each whisper sounding a little like your name.
The concrete road is still here, but you are somewhere beyond it,
And I am left vulnerable to what the distance became.
And I thought they were only wispy trees along the highway,
Until years later, their presence became a bittersweet memory.
