The Woman in the Woods

Walking in the woods
I often see her there.
Kneeling, with her hands in the stream.
Reaching out to touch a leaf.
Picking up a rock to ponder.
Training her ear on a bird call.
Lifting a gaze to the clouds.
Gathering acorns just to hold them.
Drawing in a breath of honeysuckle.
Writing notes to the wind with her fingers.
Leaving messages in the sand.
Sometimes she sings and dances near the water.
She looks like tenderness, like love’s supposed to look.
Does she see me? Does she know I’ve come?
Come to learn this touching, seeing, singing, dancing art.
I cannot say. She is old. Her eyes are old.
But she moves in morning light like a little girl
dancing with her Dollie.

2 thoughts on “The Woman in the Woods

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