Meditation at Hittle Bottom

A copse of cottonwoods roars
Like surf against shores
Filling my ears, as the open space
Fills my soul, with emptiness

It has needed this repose
A pause to push the world back
Shore pushing back waves
For a moment, winning against the
Onslaught of time, and age

They will win, eventually

But here
Between these ancient rocks
The young trees roar
And in this moment we,
As ageless immortals, 
Slip time's bonds, 
The trees, and rocks, and I
Tomorrow we will age again
And in steady order
Pass to worlds beyond

For now though, we are
Caught in the vastness of moments