Morning mist
I hurry my way
through the lanes
where I
used to sit
listening to stories,
which now
accumulate
like dust
on an
empty pathway.
Old conversations
bring back
the melodies
of songs unsung;
the chatter of
the leaves
speak to me
in a tongue
which I
once understood.
I stop awhile
and
listen to the dogs
bark at the birds;
the chirping of
sparrows,
a voice
long forgotten.
I look at the sky
and suddenly
the voices 
stop calling out to me.
I step on the leaves
and run
towards
the horizon.