Silent Stones

I walk the cobbled streets

patinaed gold in flickering candle light,

worn smooth,

shouldering eras of footsteps upon their undulating visage

Echoes of time are called back here in red and blue masquerades

a reverberation that fills me with fernweh.

I embrace the scent of the not so distant sea,

and the sharp greens of the loblolly pines

as I fall into the wonder of all that once was.

What would these stones speak of

if they had mouths to share

and if we had ears willing to hear?

What history? What wisdom? What warnings?

But those philosophic stones

like grave markers

keep their secrets,

silent sentinels ever watching where we trod.

My footsteps here will be long forgotten by you

but the silent stones of the cobble stone road

will remember.