When there was air, when you could
breathe any day if you liked, and if you
wanted to you could run, I used to
climb those hills back of town and
follow a gully so my eyes were at ground
level and could look out through the grass as the stems
bent in their tensile way, and see snow
mountains follow along, the way distance goes.
Now I carry those days in a tiny box
wherever I go. I open the lid like this
and let the light glimpse and then glance away.
There is a sigh like my breath when I do this.
Some days I do this again and again.
I gathered up a few of these days for my tiny box this weekend. The weather was incredible on Friday, so after dinner, the kids and I decided to go out to the meadow with the swing. They carried their own packs for the first time--they wanted to--yay for me! They each brought water, a sketch book, and lined paper for writing poems. I brought water, bug spray, chapstick, camera, and a journal for writing poems. It was 80 degrees at 6pm when we started walking out to the spot. We also brought a little pail for blackberries and I picked many along the path, and came home with none. We didn't see another soul--amazing. The path cuts through fields and open space, winds around and ends by the river, and just before is the big maple with the swing.
On the way back to the car it was getting dark, and we walked in silence enjoying the last light and the nature all around. Well, silence until we kicked up a pheasant hen and I got startled and hollered out! Which the kids thought, of course, was the Funny Business (it was)!
Oh, me oh my! What good times to behold!