THE CHANGING SEASONS

Leaning into the early evening
tasting a 12 year old Single Malt Scotch
for sheer pleasure...
like a hummingbird
carressing the flower
of a honeysuckle vine for nectar,
with single-mindedness
and savage passion,
I play at the edges of unearthing
the mysterious inner artistry
of an elixir that cannot be overlooked.

Like an oak cask,
once a home for sherry and port wine,
now a vessel for maturing spirits,
I expand and contract as the seasons change
from drought to monsoon,
from excess to absence,
from joy to pure darkness.
.
With the subtle, soulful sounds
of a muted jazz trumpet
floating in the background,
melting into the rich bouquet
and flavor of the whiskey,
I drift away
with the haunting melody,
alone to a tranquil space,
but never far
from what remains
in my heart
and imagination.

I remember something wonderful
touching my life.
So vivid the memories of a home
filled not only with love,
but of tranquil hearts acting lovingly...
always beating as one.

The circle is broken now,
vanishing like an orbitless star
in a blanket of clouds,
but never far from reappearing
in my atmosphere
on wind and dreams.

You are the most treasured part of my journey,
and I will continue to search for you
wherever my shadow falls.

I miss your company,
but most of all,
when the music speaks quietly
to my soul,
I miss your love.

© JOHN PISCATELLA