Chiseling

The ties in my mind to memories

hold fast, a rigging that makes me

stand tall in who I am.

I recognize her--this past self.

But now, new memories burrow themselves and mark me, 

slowly chipping away at who I used to be.

Sometimes it scares me, becoming someone new;

or am I merely becoming more of who I am

A chiseling into reality.

Shoes

"Don't forget to wear your shoes!" was something I heard often when I was a kid. I would put on my shoes, run up to the barn, and then hide my shoes and socks in the tall grass by the blue, pasture gate. I'd then run with abandon, lighter than air, across the pasture. I remember the feeling of the cold, hard earth on my bare feet in March. I could feel spring coming. When the earth would start to soften and I could see my toe prints, I'd know the bright green shoots of wild onions would soon sprout, followed by the soft grass and then the tiny, blue wild flowers that looked like starburst fireworks. I think we are naturally very intuitive and connected with nature, and we forget this connection as we grow older and more distracted by things.

Poem during the storm

A world above,

A world below,

A shapeless fevered form - 

The wild growth up to the sky,

The wild void beneath unknown.

The light and spark of thought and life,

Clips the blooming dark.

The ripples spreading out now glow

With mirrored bands of hope. 

And such illuminates the soul,

And reflects, unto itself, each heart.