to hear
the song of the Wind,
you must
be still,
bid all mental chatter
cease,
and let the mechanism of modernity
be hushed
then,
trees become cellos,
the lake an oboe,
the dry winter grass
a section of strings,
our house a harp,
and the Wind -
a many-fingered Artist
calls forth
Her symphony
from nature's waiting instruments
while the sheets
and pillowslips dance
along a chorus line
of twine
strung
between two hearts...
[photoart by Jaime Heiden Photography]
this
was the river
that taught me
to cast my line
further
than I could see,
this
was the town
where girlhood dreams
came true,
and where
I would - too soon - discover
that I had
so much more to learn
about being
the kind of woman
I wanted to be,
and not the girl
who ran away...
[photo by Steve Chitwood]
no lost innocence,
lost purpose,
or joy
no lost promise,
or misplaced inspiration
leave those 90 and 9
ruminative
habits,
frustrating
self-certainties,
and rut-weary
opinions
about who you think you
have become
behind
walk
away from
the
wet-wool
heaviness
of what you think
you've sacrificed
in order to have it all
the accumulated
growth,
the un-sheared
resentments,
the matted-down and
patted-down
the price
you think
you've paid
for the life you
now live
rest from those
patterns of
walking back
and forth,
back and forth -
grazing along the same path
until the fresh grass is
gone and all that's
left is stubble -
the scrub-worn
and weary
the over-grazed ground
of what you've always done
go and find
the once-known
and new-bourne
seek the ever-innocent
search the forgotten places,
the child-like nooks and crannies
let yourself be
found,
carried,
washed clean
bring your lamb-self
home -
and rejoice...
[photoart by the extraordinary Jamie Heiden]
we existed
on our own island
sisters
leaning into one another,
reaching for our dreams,
living with roots entwined,
and branches curled
like fingers
as we braided each other's hair
in the moonlight…”
[photo art: the extraordinary Jamie Heiden Photography 2014]
