LINES OF TIME

Like the rings of an oak tree, they belong to only one not remembering the years or if the tree is older young, some of yours develop such thin lines benign to the eye and which year a ring was made? A tree still stands sturdy knowing that these rings by it were made. No memory of the past now present, but records of its days are carved into paper thin gray lines were laid memory is delinquent. I wrestle with the thoughts if recognition of thin gray lines was possible with knots, a tale told in first time read anticipating stories end familiar with the literature these lines were like a friend history carved to last my mind harassed memories not set in stone we're gathered from the past cowboy seats a. Saddle forever tucked away for one day.  dust  blown off like a horse not knowing where his food lies yet knows to find a trough that's simple. Cowboys weight carved upon the saddles pad will only fit the cowboy to whom this saddle had memory and the feeling this we can't deny like a bird using instincts in learning how to fly surprised at soaring Heights knowing the wings are his but where the skill had come from Will always produce chills shivers down my spine as these gray lines in time were not upon my memory, without a doubt, these lines are mine written in a book, not one but several dozen not written by a friend or brother similar to knowing one's family like a second cousin. Never met before but knowing hangs on the tree. Belongs in the space within our family, then gray lines of time. Gently strong about these lines that made the tail were mine without a doubt these lines of time preserve my mind. Keep me grounded deep but haunt me with the stories and memories. I couldn't keep the damage done offer much but steel parts of past recognizing written words is gone than knowing will always last sturdy in my path mm