The willow and the wind

Smoke lingers heavy like a morning fog, but my vision is clear; I wish they were here. I see their faces in the clouds, rivers, trees and stones, and for everyone who’s passed… a few, many tears.

Memories of what once was, that which was planned in the past. The twists and turns and valleys, the people turned to ash. If I’m honest, these changes happened far too fast.

I ran forward too early, a thoughtless venture into new lands, into wonder, dread and terror. A knight on his way to prove himself and slay the dragon on a great adventure.

What would it feel like to be as light as a feather, and as fluid as the river? To instead gracefully dive into these depths to find in the chest, the treasure?

Fucked if I know. I took a more catastrophic misstep and fell out of my tree, a baby bird not yet learned flight. Of course I landed straight on my neck, with aid out of sight.

I collected many griefs along the way; I collected them like they were answers. I took them like they were owed to me; I stole them like a thief and floated away like a dancer.

Letting go means I might forget them too fast, and it’s something I refuse. So, can I let go but let stay? Let memories linger but be as light as a feather? Floating peacefully past?

Will it forever be a knife cutting into my armour, straight to the heart… A myriad of fatal blows, everlasting somatic scars adorning the body like art?

Or the crushing weight of thousands of rocks placed on those guilty of love? Peine forte et dure? My pinnacle of grief, it seems to never resolve.

Why does it flatten you, like a crushing hug we might have missed growing up? This unconditional love… why does it seem to be overflowing ungracefully in a small but heavy cup?

Why does it also feel like home, and why did we lay our roots here? Roots in the pit of the heart, in a piece of lead bullet lodged there, stuck on this island which requires constant repair.

It doesn’t matter how much existential theory you or I might know, the answer is we all feel this and some may never learn to let things go. It helps to know that in the grand scheme I’m infinitesimal.

I will instead turn focus inwards to breathe with the heart and remember to hug the ghosts in my trees. So with a sigh as heavy as your leaves, I sit with the grain and share my thoughts with the breeze.