Lost god of the hills
I awoke, this morning to a mist across the land, the cold a forerunner of the winter to come. I had dreamed again of your face, the lines of time etched across it and that sad but knowing look staring back at me. I know that look for I have seen it many times, it is the look of an old man holding the hand of the child he knew, the girl he loved, the woman she had become and the old wise teacher. You hold her hand as the light fades from her eyes knowing she must go first, as you must hold the world in wisdom while she is reborn. Your time will come soon and you will be together again.
We see your grief and longing in the falling leaves and feel your tears upon the mists of the mornings we will morn her passing too, wrapping up warm besides our fires and talk of her while we eat of the bounty you both provided. In the night we will call to you and look for you in the wild places and maybe we will hear you call in return and know you wisdom holds us safe.
To us you are not the lost god of the hills although we turned our backs for many a time. we will light our fires and call to you and hope you come sit awhile, we will tell you our stories holding you close as your time of passing draws near. We will await your return with joy in our hearts and the knowledge that your love will overcome the darkness.