“I belong to summer,” I say, and
“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes” elders say.
Weary visitors with heavy bags, soon it will be time to go,
And with them go memories of endless shores, cathedral forests, landline telephones, mighty mountains, dark skies, true adventure.
Nostos algos—nostalgia—an unappeased yearning to return.
Did you too come into the world
somehow missing it?
No baton, no team, just a tattered flag,
they pass, they pass, and
into soft palms deeds are passed—
relationship with land is a right, no more.
I have a confession, though! I need to feel this!
I sense our lives depend on
feeling it deeper, cultivating trust.
Nothing to prove, just
re-membering response-ability.
For towards the beds of moss, singing women, evening primrose, and clans of troubadours who cast aside their undergarments long ago, I lean…
Hungry, grateful for their sun,
Because these things feel true.
In ponds of lilies, I find my friends naked, contributing pearls of glistening tears, courageous things.
And we respond to the chipmunks
Respond to the blackbirds
Respond to the children
Respond to the laughter of fruit juice stained and shining through smiling teeth.
Respond, respond
To the bitter breath of winter
Respond to disease with roots and
hymns and the medicine of our time
Respond to death!
Respond with a sleeping dog’s sigh
at the break of dawn
Rejoice in the good morning,
My friends, who wave back at the leaves.
In a dream came a vision of
an empty wooden seat,
carved by creation, perfectly fit for our runner’s rumps, amongst a circle
of creatures—
Raccoons, seraphim, winter berries, seals, fireflies, ticks, and stones, and salamanders.
“Come back,” they say. “You are always welcome here,” they say. “It was only a scary dream, you were never cast away from this garden,” they say.
So sweet shyness, you may drop now,
like those first, blushing petals
protecting what was to come.
Now is the time to respond to this brilliant light, in all of our dank musks, frenzied color, and touch.
Shower rowdy blessings upon the bounty that remains.
This is how, to our children, we respond.
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