by Guest Author

Is this what it’s like, after all? After all those years of longing to be free from others’ rules and expectations from pushing myself to do more and be more from striving for some lofty, unattainable goal? ‘How can you catch the sparrow?’ ‘Have you ever seen a wo-man taken by the wind?’ ‘You belong somewhere you feel free.’ ‘wide open spaces, room to make her big mistake’ ‘and so it is, just like you said it would be, life goes easy on me most of the time’ Is this, dare I say, peace? A negative space, where anxiety once dwelt? It’s strange – I miss the longing. I long for the yearning. I yearn for the desire to want something just out of reach like after a long winter’s sleep breaks into the spring day and we become habituated to the perennial green grass the ubiquitous chatter of birds the brightness of the sun and gentle warm air if you stare at something long enough, it’s like it’s not even there. The blue sky, unshifting, disappears.

I like to watch the shadows drift along the canvas of the world their unchoreographed dance enchants me… limbs moving in concert to the score of blue jays sparrows breezes and doves and right now I can’t imagine can’t conceive of anything more beautiful than new willow buds hanging garlands from old arms suspended, defying gravity until a storm pulls them down my guardian, the willow, reaching over a canopy of permeable walls a sign of a water source though there is none in sight.

Does a tree ask itself “what is my purpose?” does it ever wonder “are my branches shaped just right?” It grows in the soil the earth the elements it’s been given dependent on the sky for rain and light, it does not fear the droughts of August nor fight the frosts of fall it’s flowers bloom, abundant in hopes of fertilization the leaves emerge, live, brown and wither and it lays dormant for a season until spring returns again and what looked dead is reborn but people are not trees- we poison the wells we draw from we want what’s good but settle for less do we carve paths or just take steps? Are we nomads, always moving picking up packing up and journeying? or is there really someplace here to call home and put down roots.

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