Is it the spruce trees or the wind that whistles, or perhaps just my whistle-stop thoughts? Deep in the forest can be heard the whistler’s songs. It seemed the whole earth quieted, and listened. Silence runs deep, when teardrops sounding on the rocks can be heard.
It is a beautiful sight, colorful leaves spin downward, ablaze in the autumn sun. Soon the cold winds of change will wipe them clean, until the purple nakedness is all that remains. The timber walls standing firm against the winter wind. Then once again the sun warms the wind and spring returns to mountain meadows and snow covered peaks.
Farewell oh winged imagination. Farewell my fairy-tale thoughts. Farewell my friends of imagery … perhaps we’ll meet again in whistle-stop thoughts. Maybe we’ll dance the last dance together, forever.
— C. S. Craig August 15, 2017
In honor of my dear Mother, Edna Jeanette Hickman Craig, October 10, 1921 – August 15,1995. I love you and miss you, my little Eddie…I’ll see you soon on the other side….You’ll hold me there, give your gentle kisses there….Buddy-boy.