Finding Your Words
The poet walks. That's what Julia says. I did not know this is what she says until I got home, from walking. Julia is right. When we walk, we find our words, we find memories we take home in our bodies. These are a few of the memories I now hold...
Giant leaves make me feel I am in the rain forest, but this is just a quiet walk in a Northeast wood.
"There's a circle!" She runs over and sits, telling me it reminds her of Stonehenge. What is it about a circle?
My Littlest has gone off and found a secret garden. It feels enchanted.
A white moth surprises me when I look again at the photo. I did not know he was there.
The green of an open field. It heals without words.
My girls know all about what a field can do. See how it animates?
The day is like seed upon seed. Who knows where it will drift in memory, and maybe someday in words?
Ward Pound Ridge Reservation photos, by L.L. Barkat.