what has passed is past

I love this island because it is an island of tall trees. Like us, they are not really land-bound. They walk right down into the sea.

The fall air is good in the lungs.
Enough of it, and my body starts to make its own decisions. Legs urge me toward the door, to kick up leaves and feel the wet earth. Nothing seems more important than walking when I remember to walk. I walk under the tall trees. Walk down to the water. The water stretches away to a distance I can't imagine. The trees loom to heights I can't imagine. The effort of trying to imagine stretches my mind and my feeling parts, loosens them. I feel baffled and small, but much more spacious inside. I feel gentled and also, somehow, like a warrior.




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