ashes

If there ever comes a day when I’m not with you,
I hope you’ll still walk through wild woods -
see sun rays pass through golden aspen leaves
and think of me.
I hope you’ll spread my ashes from a peak,
where winds blow and it’s often too cold -
watch them fly and scatter -
float and disappear like birds,
drifting far below to mountain lakes
we sat beside on warm fall days -
when everything was beautiful - 
the light, reflections, 
peaceful rivers, breezes
and you.