THE WINDMILLS OF ALTAMONT (3/29/13)

The low rolling hills speak of something green

and the Greyhound bus moved along a road

through a pillared forest of aluminum and steel

As I rushed, headlong, on my fool's errand

through the windmills of Altamont

Three long years later, I think of you

Gone from me, gone from here

I don't think about you as often,

though I have not quite let go of you yet

And if these are the last words I write to you

it is not because you are forgotten

You will always be a part of me

holding forever, steadfast, a corner of my heart

You saved my life that day

though I don't think I was in your mind at all

Still, I'm here now, even if you aren't

and I think about those pillars of aluminum and steel

blades turning in the constant rushing breeze

Thousands of them, spread out across the pass,

bringing light from the air

and I think about my fool's mission,

trying to save a vision, a myth, nothing more

a knight in tarnished armor,

but too little, too late, not made for such things

My mind passes through that day

as the Greyhound bus passed through those low rolling hills

and there was still some remnant of hope in me then

flittering, fluttering, like the wind pushing those great blades of aluminum and steel

and I, grasping at strings as you danced upon the edge of madness,

I might not have much, I thought, but at least I have this string,

I don't even have that now,

though I am still here, setting words on paper

thinking of you

and the windmills of Altamont 

- Ryan Cole