With travels overseas approaching I am spending much time where I grew up. I grew up running around in the woods with neighborhood kids and sisters. Today I trekked along the same trails we did as kids. I passed the rocks we gave names to (since we spent so much time together), I swung on vines, I used trees as parallel bars to back flip on.
I wrote some poetry.
to my favorite autumn tree
As season changed
Your green of summer
I watched orange and red
Slowly posses. From your roots
Of July; when all I cared for was
In the tree house. On the couch.
Telling stories. With no question. Marks
Flecking yellow, burnt purple, tan.
Using season. As excuse…
How’s the weather?
Without we in it?
In other news I’ve been doing a bit of memoir-ing. It’s quite tricky stuff, actually.
It’s hard staying indoors in weather like this…