i no longer horde
the berries from my youth
those i would once gather
in the springtime
to savor
in the coming months
and coming years
i now enjoy them
in the moment
sitting in the berry patches
under the gentle strength
of the spring sun

the trees are covered in ice

it is early morning

the air is frigid

the day will warm

and the ice will melt

the trees are covered in ice

it is early morning

the air is frigid

the day will warm

and the ice will melt

the trees are covered in ice

it is early morning

the air is frigid

the day will warm

and the ice will melt

it continues

and continues

i wonder if our souls
speak different languages.
would your soul
recognize mine?
i want to see yours.
i awake
with this desire.
in the stillness of the night
i let mine call out,
come to me”,
it says,
we can hold this,
we can love this
.”

there is a
field
the crops passed
many seasons
ago
here and there
saplings have
sprouted
some thick
with seasoned
bark
from many
winters
around the field
is a stone
wall
it is
crumbling
and lost among
moss
and bramble
and small trees
that have found
their way
to the light
shooting up around
the stones
woven amongst the
rocks
hanging from
rotting
fence posts
and tangled up
in the
long grass
is rusted
barbed wire
camouflaged
against its
surroundings
it catches clothing
and
snags skin
leaving rust stained
lines
within flesh
as a
reminder
of its presence
the field is
all but
inaccesible
one can only
look on
through the various
seasons
and wonder about
the crops
that were once
planted
there many years
ago
one can only
look on
at the trees
that have leapt
up now
left
to their own
way
to their own will
without plow
or foot
to disrupt
them