"And I will waste my heart on fear no more
I will find a secret bell and make it ring
And let the rest be washed up on the shore
They can't be tamed, these wilder things"
- Ruth Moody
i lay in bed and listen as their voices
find their way under my closed door. i toss and turn
and see that history does indeed repeat itself.
i understand how all of this is not mine to manage
and wake, come morning, off balance and somber.
i ask her if she knows a spot where i might be able to get right down to the river,
to take some photos, i say. but deep down i know i just want to be with the water,
where i might find solstice, and calm, and fresh air to fill me up.
she offers to come with me, and i feel my heart lighten.
they fish from shore and from river boats,
the sun on their backs, water perhaps spraying their faces.
they come to fish, i come to gather energy from the river,
giving me what i need to get back in the car and go on with life.
a heron flies, but i am not ready with my camera, so i watch her magnificat wings
carry her across the river. i pass a child playing where water meets sand,
while his dad fishes close by. both are content, both filled with wonder,
each in their own world and yet conversing; the dad patient and
mindful, the child questioning and curious.
if i ordered it up with some magic power,
the weather could not be more perfect,
i feel energy flowing inside me, but mostly i feel wise
for knowing what i need, astute enough to know
how to recharge and refill.
it won’t be until later that i fully grasp
that i have been traveling without my own map.
i am off to see my sister for a few day,
have a beautiful rest of your week. . .
“I just know when I quit looking to other people for directions, I found my own map.”
― George Ella Lyon, Holding on to Zoe