This cold weather has me thinking of the Big Island…long sunsets, beautiful forests, and glistening lava.
with little haste,
transformed into a
steadfast resting place.
after so long a pause,
weary limbs unfold.
Stiff as gargoyle wings they,
cautiously break their pose.
before wisdoms clarify,
in a darting glance
over the shoulder
fond memories blur the eye.
each and every time,
a thing never looks
so good as when
you’re leaving it behind.
As the remnants of a laugh
echo in conversation’s gap,
You recall yourself again.
Cast out the impostor beneath your skin.
For so long –– too long ––
you did not recgonize the stranger,
blurry-eyed and red-rimmed,
who measured you with cold eyes
in the steam of a hot shower
and accusing florescent light.
But these last few days,
these thousands of miles,
time carved from a rigid schedule,
have restored the light you’ve been craving––
to your laugh, to your step, to your eyes.
Perhaps running hard to a place
where you could reinvent yourself
was the easiest way to return
to the person you recognize.
Then, with slanted shoulder and smile
he turns his broad frame your way,
breaks your thoughts, and fills the gap with,
“The mountain air must agree with you.”
Slanting light slips silent
through turning amber leaves
to fall on spent summer greens
and cast a gold glow on the eve.
Soil giving slightly under foot
and air blowing softly on brow,
I seek the spot where birches bend
and the slow swaying pines do bow.
Retracing your retreat
into realms long forgot.
I recall what it is you taught me
that lessons and library could not.
The revelations that rise
only in the strange solitude
of the lively chaos trees provide
and reveal truths obscured by haste.
Here, among the stoic elders,
I absorb the wisdom of the wood,
hear the whispered words spoken
by a heart pleading, “Do what you would.”