The trees talk to me.
They tell me to slow down,
don’t push it.
let the wind pour through me.
I need to be sturdy enough to bend
gracefully, and yield to powers bigger than me.
If I do not heed their message, I will break.
I can’t find the seed
the core of what I came here for.
I want to crack open and
pour forth
spilling words
cascading sentences
a wild waterfall of paragraphs and stories.
I want to froth like an ocean creating meaning
from the ebb and flow of my ferocious
passions.
But I am parched, hard with the insistence of “NOW!”
The birches watch and smile.
With papery curled eyes
they wait for me to relax and breath.
“Go play,” they say.
“Go play. The rest will come.”
The wind whispers her tender invitation
tickling the leaves with the promise of inspiration.
Out of play
the images will flutter
my heart will dance
and I will freely express all manner of
glorious beginnings.
Oh Mary, this is so beautiful – and I am in such a unlaying place – I feel stuff looming and wish I didn’t – such an exquisite poem -thank you!
A beautiful poem.