Forty second Letter/Poem to Khodayar

Walking in hills, with the rain my eyes follow the ridge above me - as it climbs higher, ever higher. The paths followed by the living and those followed by the dead are kept forever seperate and apart. Five years since your death Khodayar the flowers of Spring still blanket the ground upon which my wet feet step. Clouds block any sight of the sun with time and waiting, may I see it again. The birds cross between all these paths threaded rain drops of the air. I take your absence as rememberance of all the things that you were, the things that you could have been. I take it as the loneliness of water finding a way to the ocean, of nature encircled by mountains without end. Cold, my friend, help me to find the way home, skirting danger - like houses on a plain around the base of a cliff. 18 October 2020