China Jon's Syncretic Journal

I awoke to a creaking, and gently tinkling sounds.
Monotonous and intriguing, not worried about the harmonies they were making.
There! Another sound, like a flute, But the notes were different as they wound around.
Wagon wheels, wind chimes and pan pipes welcomed the dawn's warm breaking.

I peaked out from under the wagon's canvas cover to see a meadow's flowers.
Mountain Lilies, shaded gold and dimly white.
A chill ran down my back, and the flowers curled in shadowed bowers.
The day would warm my sleepy soul, and turn their colors bright.

The hill above the meadow was white with melting snow.
The reddish and brown rocks there were round and smooth, covered with a cold sheen.
Then I saw a movement, a rock that moved, just a bit, and so slow.
I looked more carefully to make out just what I had seen.

Brown and white horses! And upon them men, dressed in white and brown.
If only a horse had not moved, they would have been hidden in plain sight,
Now I could see shields, and lances, and there! a commander's flag!
They showed no interest in this caravan, and did not prepare to fight.

I watched them for as long as I could, until we curved into verdant valleys.
They sat, both bold and still, upon their cavalry of calico.
I thought of battles won and battles lost by their rushing violent sallies.
Battles roared and blood fell in my memories from long ago.

I alone ,in the caravan calmly winding,
saw the ghosts upon the hill.
I alone heard echoing hoofbeats sounding
and cries of doom both loud and shrill.

Why don't those aging warriors rest?
Why do they wait upon the snowy hill?
What do they seek in the far off frozen West.
I know not now, but in my dreams, I surely will.