One Who Drifts

“Not all those who wander are lost.” – J.R.R. Tolkien

Out for a stroll in a blizzard in Minneapolis
– this would have been before you knew me.

I stepped into a world
partially erased,
smudged and burnished.

Hasty charcoal sketch
skillfully executed
on white,
high-cotton expanse.

A touch
here, quick stroke
there, a hint,
a trace
– mere impressions of life.

A city stilled, un-citied.
Heavy, steady fall.
Breath held
as a greatly talented Giant gyred
across the breadth of the plains.
Its core,
whisper silent, hung
still over my aimless path.

And I went wandering.

Two hours away in the snow.
Friends were called,
family frantic.  While I drank in
art for the ages.

I returned to, “…thought you were lost!”

Oh my, how unlost I was
in dove-bright beauty!  Not lost.
Not lost!  But seeking
a greater sense of snow.