In the beginning,
a memory of delight - a gift, bestowed.
You respond as the people on Grandma’s television do -
an imitation and expression of joy: clasped hands against your heart,
Absorbing the world around you.
In another life,
you might have been a spy,
or a bird, quiet and keen:
observing people and places,
the forces at work in and around them;
Blending and shifting as nature itself does
in changing environs.
In this life, you follow foreign policy and fold your clothes,
Firmly building yourself quieter spaces,
making yourself at home.
A nest and shelter within the broader tumult:
Each thing found in its proper location,
Real and grounded; enduring and welcoming.
A sustained flourishing, with careful pruning and curation,
Impatient for wellness and order for yourself and all things.
You find a corner of the world that you can work with;
Find belonging in community and friendships,
Weaving play and meaning into your days.
You’re a realist, so you don’t have dreams of grandeur,
But you look to make positive impacts in some ways,
and hope you can make things a bit better for others.
“A bit” can be enough to foster change.
Were you to be
the last person on earth,
you would still seek out the raw and true and beautiful things -
shifting colors, signs of life, the tiniest joys:
the iridescent flitting of dragonflies;
the sounds of frogs in spring.
Things the baby birds have outgrown;
the whispering of wings.
