The Spot

As I sit on the covered terrace
Surrounded by 90 years of family
My eye is drawn, as great grandpa David had planned
To the spot where the mountains meet

Beyond that, the next mountain just sitting there
Tauntingly reflected in the pond at the bottom of the hill
As if knowing that for today
It is out of reach

As sun wakes and light comes to the hillside
Buzzards take flight, awakened by the promise of new currents
Representing the end of life
They are appropriate for today

The creek rumbles down the valley
Refreshed by evening rain
It too is drawn to the spot
At the bottom of the hill
Where the mountains meet
Where the next mountain watches
Under the black soaring wings
Where two people, separated by consequence
Return to each other's arms forever