Cold, Clear Night

_____________ photo by: Phil Miller ------ click to enlarge

A cold, clear night.

Gazing into the fire and embers.

Warm memories of other nights.

Nearness, despite distance.

Feeling, without presence.

Knowing.

Phil Miller

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Sweet Mountain Girl

She is from hardy, mountain stock. Iron-rich soil and limestone water had nourished her parents before her and made up her sinewy presence. Strong: not only of body, but of will and persistence. Eyes like blue crystal; fair skin and genteel manners compliment her quiet elegance.

Like a mountain butterfly she has soared on uplifting breezes from her Kentucky high country beginnings to a Bluegrass maturity and finally to settle in the river valley.Memories of that childhood home remain etched on the Laurel leaves in her mind as she notes the contrast of her present, manicured surroundings to the simple, natural flow of water and woods of her youth.

Circumstance and happenstance led her to her present, her fate and her fortunes. Now she remembers the tender times of being with that someone who saw her as the child of Grace and love which she has always been. The someone who made her feel that she was loved and cherished.From that special place where her life's real treasures are kept, she takes a box of notes and letters and gently removes the lid to touch the past. Here, as she knew she would, she finds his words that tell of his yearning and longing for her; his Sweet Mountain Girl.

A faint smile of remembrance appears on her lips and warmth fills her heart as she reads:

I often see your face at times that I would least expect,

Do you ever see mine, too, in unexpected places?

In my mind we haven't changed, I continue to reflect

On all that used to be; on the joy my memory traces.

A simple sound, a flash of light and it all comes back to please.

I dare to think that sound is you, among those others on the lawn,

Or as music I hear in the brook; or as night-sounds in the trees.

Then your voice fades away into the night, taken by the dawn.

I may someday see you again and hear your voice so dear,

And you will be here with me, and with me you will stay.

I wonder if you know how much that I would love to hear

That you've longed to be with me as years slipped away.

Perhaps I will meet you here and no longer be alone,

Or perhaps it will be when we pass on into eternal light

I will see your face once more and press it to my own.

Then you and I will join our souls and drift from mortal sight.

Goodnight, my Sweet Mountain Girl.

Phil Miller (reprinted from a "Volume of Memories")