i picked the pine cones and carried the smell on my hands the rest of the day
and it reminded me of that time when we were young and we played by the swings
where your grandfather killed the big snake and my grandmother made us lunch,
we ate our lunch by the pines behind my house and i could taste the smell of those trees on my toast and carried it with me through that day, through my life and into today, 40 eternal years later
she had become wild and overgrown,
like creeping ivy,
and feral night creatures–
like neglected velvet roses
and fierce northern winds
oasis
opulant
organza
oak tree
orzo
opium
orchids
orange
she had dreamt of a fog so thick that it clung to her like draping wet webs upon awakening
i watched the leaves fall gently from the trees
and for just a single moment, i thought the trees were crying
it was the season of soft sienna
and stewing oatmeal,
of cool nights and mist filled mornings
with crows calling for the day to open once again
are you protected
or held prisoner?
a bridge across the world,
across mountains,
across words
and thoughts–
a bridge across the planets,
across misunderstandings,
across watercolor waves
and childhood expectations
how i wanted to put miles between us all those years ago–
now,
i don’t remember why
a white egret at the marsh
Dusty Springfield
cool, foggy mornings
turkey vultures in the field
fairies blowing bubbles at the fair
the sun dancing on green leaves
glass marbles in a dish
pink dahlias
french vanilla coffee
and chocolate croissants
spanishwoods 