kinnery, twenty summers old. someday, we'll become birds and snowflakes and dandelion seeds, and we'll fly away on the wind like the vagabond souls we are. take my hand.
kinnery@live.ca
toadstools
i have crossed every snake's path and ant trail, passed through forest dens and perched curiously over toadstools, at a loss for a specific name but mystified all the more for it. there is nothing more wondrous than that which cannot be named. nothing more wondrous than every day life in forests, over ant hills and snake holes and fox dens (or wolf, or some other creature), toadstools.
"don't forget us," they whisper. "we are as much a part of you as you are of us. we are inextricably linked."
i pick myself up off the forest floor, step over the toadstools, dens, trails, paths, break out of the foliage, wander home in bare feet and muddy skirt hems, and trace my finger over everything i see.
"don't forget us."
Where you walk, may I follow? You footsteps continue to lead down a path of literary insight and beauty. This piece seems to define for me so much of what it means to call yourself a soul.
ReplyDeleteOh, my love. How I wish you could see what I see within yourself. I am breathless just thinking of all the things you are, words evading me because they are too embarrassed to not be enough to summarize you. All that you are amazes me, don't you see?
ReplyDeleteThere are parts of our live that we want to forget. Parts that we certainly do not. I wish that you never forget moments where the foliage of great forests are your only companions, because such moments only come around so often. Dust off the dirt, my darling, but never wash away the stains.
Your last comment to me, my friend, brought true tears to my eyes. I cannot express how much your appreciation does for me, because you are one of the ones I long to impress the most. Your assurance in me, despite the fact that I do not understand how you could come to those lovely conclusions about simple old me, was something that pricked my eyes, made my fingers tremble and my heart smile. I can never thank you enough, my dear one.
I am glad you enjoyed the tale of the rain-man. It is perhaps the only story that I myself have written and enjoyed.
Eternally Yours,
Norah xx
Ah yes, the things we cannot name have such a compelling presence. Sometimes a name can be a burden, a limitation. This is a magnificently awe-inspiring post. :-)
ReplyDeleteohyesyesyes. don't ever forget a thing. love this. xx
ReplyDeletelovely, adore it. new follower. x
ReplyDeleteI am very glad to have discovered your blog!:) Followed x
ReplyDeleteI agree that the most wondrous things cannot be named, but are sort of felt in a level where words mean little.
Oh Kinnery, you are such a bright soul.
ReplyDelete