Wrapped up loosely in a summer’s afternoon. No need for catching up, already carefully caught, meaningful meanderings along a brick path, herringbone, worn thin by a score of similar circlings, wandering in all kinds of seasons of knowing and not knowing.
Not a labyrinth. More a winding road to a clearing.
I just want to linger. Now this tall stakes of bright green, orange, and red boast a bumper crop of cherry tomatoes. Smells like growing. Now that mint flaunts her power to proliferate. Shall I gather up you here Blue, and Black-eyed Susans, to contain bold vibrancy in a Mason jar, as if that could really happen, just a little longer?
I have watched most precious to me, in air and sky just like this, saw them swing high in that open field, splash in the shade over there by oaks and poison ivy, all pink and soft and perfect. Thank you. I just want to linger here for just a little longer.
The woods are everywhere where I am. They are our always. Woods that have been shelter and cozy and exploration. Boundaries and openings. Seek we will, still, these woods, quiet and full. Moving, taking our past and bringing it too. Moving into our new moments; those not yet born, the ones they, whoever they are, call pregnant with possibility.
Paths yet to have our footprints unfold in tomorrows soon. But just for now, I want to linger a little longer.