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| olivebridge, where one walks into the woods and sees all that one can see. |
on a day where one can see, one can sniff the air, feel the cool breezes on one's skin, on a day like this i knew that i was alive, that what life is , the green, yellow, red, the smell of pine leaves and wet maple leaves on the muddy ground, the refreshing coolness, the excitement of mother nature having her way with me. that is life. life. ....i experience this life , rich with my senses, my imagination, my love of man and child, although clinging to this life, would i change anything? how could i? it all mingles together like the map of my face and body, the chapters of my life, a collage of myriads of little and large, like my love , like the loves in my life, like the story that was in my head and is now not the same. did i rewrite my own history? or i bring a new reader to the novel i wrote, the play, the poem, the dance i choreographed. no it is not the same. i am not the young girl, who laughed off the silly choices she made in exchange for the immediate experience of getting high on raptures. no. who is she? what is her name? i forget her. do i forgive her? not yet. not yet.
the watcher sees and doesn't see. her eyes strain to understand, so little does she understand. the watcher questions as she strolls through life. the answers come , maybe. maybe they come after years have gone by. maybe the questioner and the questions die together.
ReplyDeletehow soft the light is in october. the leaves have turned the yellowish delight and the sky is golden. how we all are affected by light and color. how did i not notice the pain people were feeling when i was twenty something? too busy being in pain the way the young sky rocket into messes on the ground and cry and whine about it. so, i didn't notice. too busy being narcissistic.
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