Reflections: A gift for family and friends
(aftermath of 9/11)
for Christmas 2001

by g.l. bass (the ghostbear still lives)

The Maples have all turned inward.
All the tall Hickories finished their work.
All the Oaks gone deep in heavy bark.
Woodland souls all fallen
Deep beyond sleep
Their hearts resolved
Toward winter.

Adorned dense gray,
Climbs across western skies.
The scent of snow lies
Crisp and cold upon
Ghost shadows final fading eyes.
These are times of reflection,
Times we all bear witness to the
Truth of our changing lives..

All trails we venture
Through woodlands
Find their way
To where all
Journeys of the heart
Must end
One day.

Now for us,
Looking back
Is no longer
Reason to stay
The same course
We intended yesterday.
The time of reflection
Is upon us,
Winter’s but a wind whisper

We look back,
To define
Our souls,
To grasp what all the
Trails we’ve traveled,
All the paths we’ve ventured,
All the bridges we’ve crossed,
In lessons gained
And loves lost.
Now we’ve journeyed round
This time marked bend,
When all our past passions
Will be measured,
What has it all meant,
To loved ones,
Families and friends?

All the woodlands awaits
A winter when
We will never
Need turn back again.

We’ve come to the trail’s edge,
We’ve reached an end.
The signs marking this bend,
Call upon the deepest reaches
Of our hearts.
Now, is t he time of reflection.

In silence,
And in prayer,
Our very soul
Reaches to touch
All those whom we love,
All those for whom we care,
All those with whom we must share
What life without fear,
For us has meant,
Before we turn
And make our way
Round this bend,
The woodlands awaits
The onslaught of winter.
Henceforth, we shall not
Turn back again,
It is our hour
Of reflection.