The watchers 

To drive down a country road

Moving forward, looking back

Thinking I might record the backwards motion

Yearning to stop for no reason except a still lake, except a red barn motionless, except an enormous bale of hay like a lazy good natured animal sunning purposefully. 

And then returning not having done any of that but the anchor of next time the anchor that starts to drop from my head to the world loosening from the nethers into the void of dropping 

And, knowing suddenly brightly (like I know a death that’s come) that the trees have always been with me (in different shapes and sizes) from the very beginning the ones lining the road,  the old ones outside my children’s window, the pine trees with the pine cones that I’d never seen before (evergreen), the one that made me afraid to pull back bark, the one holding the songbirds outside my grandmother’s window in the yellow distance of the day when my knowing rose like it rises now with them

(silent swaying living watchers)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s