“The day is a woman who loves you.”
-Richard Hugo
The day is a woman
who loves you. Open.
The trail heads straight,
the sky uncovers
a breath of soft rain,
swift movement of clouds,
light, then dark,
light, then dark,
the ringing creek,
the soft brown forms
of far off mountains,
close and curved
like the body
of a mother.
We make our way,
the sky wide,
children and dogs,
bicycles and helmets,
coats and hats.
On and off,
on and off,
clatter of streams,
of us,
children’s moods
fickle as
spring sunshine,
no schedule,
a slow roll,
amble,
stumble,
stop,
repeat,
as the trail opens and
the green of the valley
pours upon us.
We recreate
the day,
again and again,
the sky wide
as the mouth
of a thirsty girl,
her only purpose
this moment,
the only fear,
being found.
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