Too steep to climb

There is a breeze here on the hill
That speaks of cold winters to come,
Even though yet the embers of my erstwhile fire sputter among the moon-drenched stones.
I smell upon it the wood-smoke from cooking in the hearths
And the soft songs being hummed unconsciously by the dozing lantern-lighters
Who draw easy breath in the comfort of their own homes.
I look briefly over my right shoulder
At the grey distance, barren and endless
And turn back to my past, the village in the valley below.
But within arm’s reach are the memories of my days amongst that council of trees
And of my trials of adolescence in the school yard,
Of my dreams of stars in the fragrant meadows beyond.
All of the history that I have piled upon the world in my years
Is wrapped up in a neat little bundle of houses, and lives
Tucked in a hollow between the hills.
I am still young and my feet will carry me far
And so, even more so, I must be gone,
And lose myself in new births in scattered lands.
As with every step the dream of days gone by will lighten and fade
And yellow in the dust of new experience and time,
And since the future remains clouded,
I will have merely the beating of my heart to keep pace with me.
My ever-renewed present is worn proudly.