The lingering embers of sweet grass on cold October nights
Dew on the morning honeysuckle that warmly wrapped us in July
Star-dust trailing across a seemingly never-ending August sky
September rains, the forest and full moon tide
Tiny breathes in December as snowfall blankets outside
Opening blooms and light announcing May has arrived
Sipping a warm latte while bundled on the beach, moments in April’s time
Laughter and glances, Shiraz, the scent of March for you and I
You asked what your scent was
It is the softness and perfection of taste, memory and time
Longing for placid waters that lap the sound of what my heart has spoken
Sitting on my beach I trust in my warmth
Just as where the river meets the ocean
Strong currents and individual temperatures must navigate alone as they try to merge whole
All part of nature, no persons place to judge or control
Where is the line between who we were and who we are?
Is it ever a line or rather a continuum, an evolution of sorts?
A weaving of a contextual story that perhaps only I should know?
Observers with opinion can consume needed breath, interfering with flow
Yesterday I retreated to an old shore
Only to be reminded
I don’t live there anymore