Will I Still See?
It’s been a while since I’ve posted. I’ve been working a lot more on my writing in other spaces, especially a book about the playful adventures of three siblings growing up in rural Vermont!
I took a little detour this fall to write a poem for a poetry contest. Now that the contest is over, I’d like to share it here. Again, it’s a chance for me to connect with my rural Vermont roots now that I’m spending my adult life in city spaces.
Will I Still See?
Gentle rain
The sound of wind brushing past trees
The squelch of mud on a dirt road
Under my childish rubber boots.
Acquainted with every nest of twig in the trees,
Every nest of stone in the lake,
Birds and fish my intimate friends,
Life moving at a crawl.
But childhood ends.
Does connection to nature end, too?
City sounds
The sky, brown.
Walking paved roads
Even bare feet cannot connect with the dirt.
Deer and birds become pests
Competing for space
Rivals for food and hazards on the road.
Where is nature now?
Saddened by the distance
Lonely for my friends.
Do the fish and birds move somewhere still
Wild and free and independent
Thriving and connected?
Can I ever be patched back in
Now that my world has shifted?
And then.
Childhood begins again.
Mouths to feed, cries in the night,
Giggles and toys and books.
Joy and exhaustion.
Me, an adult, too tired to slow down.
But pavement does not stop a toddler’s wondering heart.
Every stick, every berry, every mushroom a wonder.
Birds becoming friends again, now with my children.
Frogs and worms to be adored, rescued, befriended.
Nature to be defended.
For me, a reminder.
A choice.
I have left nature, but it has not left me.
The earth here is built over, but not gone.
Will I still see the beauty in the colors and sounds?
Will I still stop in awe?
A rabbit nibbles the clover
A bird builds its nest over the door
A praying mantis perches on the porch
Gentle bees tunnel in the ground.
Trees bud and grow,
Green spattered across the horizon for a season
Before the colors and scents and shapes change and drop
Covering the ground in a soft blanket just in time for chilling temperatures.
Storms in their power, rage
Throwing down branches
Making pools that birds play in
Granting us life.
Will I honor the storm
Reflect its electricity
Remember there is power bigger than me?
Or,
Will I strap down my trash can
Close windows and lock doors
Shutting out the things I can not control?
Can I find myself still a part of a world that is
Shocking
Diverse
Growing
Powerful?
Can I see the organic within the synthetics of a city?
Can I reconnect with the life-giving earth around me?
In the eyes of my children, I see that I can.
