It feels old here.
History sits on the air thicker than summer
wrapping around each step,
making me pause to reflect
as squirrels chase each other around tree
trunks in long startled scratches.
It’s all new to me,
but it seeps deep into this ground,
its nutrients in the soil,
fibers in walls of the buildings,
and the very heartstrings of the
women holding all these stories.
There is so much to know.
Redwing blackbirds call out
warnings in the reeds as I make way
around the pond watching pristine
reflections ripple with the breeze
understanding soaking right up my shins
I must trust the process buried here.