I have seen
how the snow
perched ever so loosely
on the top
of that branch
of the silver birch
tree
melts its way
down and under
in an instant.
Gone
and now
become.
There, in that space
of constant change
and new becoming
the bark seems
soaked dark
by the trickle of
melt from above.
I have noticed
how sometimes
things so close together
may not be similar
to each other
at all. Their
relative sameness
is transmuted into
an otherness that
gets lost in
the notion
of utility and ease.
It is our lack
of ingenuity and
clarity of observation
that ruffles our sense
of expectation and ennui.
I have seen
how the river pulls
away everything
that is not
somehow rooted
down or just
heavy enough to
hold its own against
the movement and
the current tides
of shifting light.
What we have hoped for
and expected
is really all about
the sense of need
we have for one
thing to be just like another.
An imagined
stability
that is genuinely
not there.
Nature designs uniqueness
into poles of closeness
and proximity.
A pause
at
the
end
of
a
line
to give
a sense of
understanding and
recline.
I had always thought
that the people of
my hometown had
held a sameness in
the fabric of their
meaning and degree.
But,
I find
that sameness
to be
my need
for nostalgia –
a place
where there is
relative ease, a better
life and a simple
routine.
It is a space
of longing in
all of us
to have a homeland
and heaven of
hopes. A
place
to walk among
the dried and fallen
leaves of our own
imagination.
Welcomed.
And, belonging.
This proximity
to alchemy;
and, the making
of things into
what we
need for them
to be
happens along
the thin line
of desire
and snow
melting
into water
along the edge
of bark on
a winter branch.
For,
how we will
find the world
melting from
snow into water
can only be uncovered
in the seeking place
of yearning hunger.
That leaf,
holding on so long
to the surface
of the ushering brook,
is lost
in an instant
when the rocky shoals of
turbulence
take it
from its throne.
Watch.
Ever-notice
how the shifting
comes
and goes.
It gives out
lessons
all day long\
for free
on how to make
the change.
It is yours
to cross the line
from this place
to that.
What meaning
will it hold?
Does the
melted snow
reach out and long
for the days it stood
atop the branch
as pack?
Do things scattered
here and there by
the rampage and
current crave to
return to the place
from which they
came un-moored?
Is it only
I – the WE of
being human –
that wishes for something
that is not here
and is not now
as if it ALONE
held the magic allure
and deep-seated freedom
of consuming release?
How we wander
looking for riches that
are truly embedded in
the soles of our
shoes;
or, just loosely
trapped
between our feet
and our socks.
The proverbial stone
in our shoe.
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