Loess Hills
I am moved.
This I cannot deny.
Standing alone,
high above these Loess Hills,
I watch the last remnants of illumination
wane upon distant horizon.
This violet sky once held an orange orb
and I do not doubt it will again,
but this moment…
This moment we shared…
It shall not come again.
And because of this,
I am moved.

Yes. There was a moment
(mere seconds ago),
when you and I were at one.
I’d like to think we embraced,
and just now,
I alter my memory to make it so.
Indeed, we did embrace.
Do you not remember?
If not…
no matter.
My mind has a heavy quill
and I shall dip it deep into this
canopy of inky sky.

And should you view my script
at some later date,
you may note that my hand wavered…
ever so.
As to this, the reason’s simple.
I am moved.

I lift a lens to receptive eye,
and there in our shared dusk,
the Loess Hills resolve to focus.
There is beauty here, yet
it is that which derives from decay.

As a rose wilts,
so do these verdant hills.
Be mindful though
that the nature of a rose is that
it is doomed to ever transition
away from beauty.
Here on these Loess Hills,
I stand above eons of erosion,
full knowing that this pending moment—
this movement from decay to yet
further decay…
That this is their pinnacle of beauty.
One zenith
amidst many,
but this one…
This one is ours.
And I am moved.

These hills stand;
yet stand unstable,
and with each lung’s expulsion,
they fall away.
At this very moment,
I breathe a heavy sigh
and they collapse
beneath my feet.
And something of this
is glorious.
That memory of our embrace…
equally unstable.
Yet I would have it no other way.

So here,
high upon a tower overlooking
vast undulations,
it somehow seems appropriate that
your movement away from me,
leading down heavy wooden stairs,
transmits upward
from platform
to hand
to camera.

And there in that viewfinder,
such transient vision is shaken,
for with each and every step
you come to take
away from me,
I am moved.

Such bliss.

This moment we shared,
forever blurred.

©06 Jack Hubbell