early March, Heritage Park, weekday afternoon
How can you capture the way the wind sounds
the simple tweet of a bird
as it flutters by
I walk in the woods on a cool afternoon
alone but not alone
content but not content
little pieces of ice on wood chips
on the path
the path looks different the angle
of the camera determines how much light
you need I’ve watched this with you before
but every time it looks different
one leaf caught in a branch
less snow this time more moss underneath and around
a man jogs by oblivious to me and with me he runs
on the ice he goes consistently
I am trepidatious with every step
afraid of falling afraid
of it being too slick too smooth
I far prefer the mud squishing underfoot
making a mess of things but knowing I can stand tall
the ice beckons and it scares me
how can I explain to you the smell of the winter air
the sound of the silence so loud and thunderous
the trees swaying the way
it smells fresh and clean familiar crunching leaves
old mud the river how can I describe it truly
so that you smell what I smell feel what I feel
I spent so many years doing what they wanted me to do
being who they wanted me to be
and now
I walk this wooded path with my camera
with my eyes open
with my words at the ready
and I finally feel alive as me artist believer
just me
The sound of the wind is like the ocean
waves like a thunderous army coming
like 12 ships heading for shore
the wind itself is such an ominous presence all around
as if I’m not alone in this forest and I’m not alone
but I feel as though there is no one in this world but me
knowing there are creatures that live here who hide when I come in
come out when I go
every time I come here I think I know all the trails
I’ve been here so many times and today I exited the park on a different path
uphill out of breath wonderfully beautiful in its dark rich soil
so worth it for a new way to look at things
a new path discovered