an old writer and his words

People of the mountainare quiet, some say taciturnpreferring to listen for the cryof the eagle, wind whistlingits familiar tune through a passsnow rent from the facetearing down in a crystalline cloud. People of the shoremerge with the songof the waves, feel its tempopunctuated by the barkof the whale, the hornanchored in the harbor,the tavern disgorgingits…