The very thought,
the scent of something on the breeze
the air pulses with secrets too fresh to forget.
Every so often I catch myself recalling
a time and place
a moment really thats never happened to the me I know today.
But a far off me, a me almost foreign and new knows…
understands really, why the smell of warm wooden planks …mountain springs
still crisp with winter’s last snow calls to little bits of me.
Why the indeliable feel of a Delta July day is not wishful hoping but wistful longing.
Once I stood, gazing out a window. I watched the snow fall and cover the ground as careful as crows at a carcass. In one fleeting, pristine moment I understood my soul had watched a thousand fields blanket with snow, over thousands of years, and I would see more…many thousands more.
I’d simply be, another me.