I don't feel particularly prodigal,
nor do I really wonder if I'm a lie
coming home to roost -
I'm past all that.
The memories descend over
these woods in a thick, hazy fog,
melting away the snow -
taking me back to September;
it's still late summer and I can
pick up where I left off,
because home hasn't
changed a bit...
Yet, in many ways, it's as if
I've been away for an eternity -
forgotten everything, shed a skin.
This I can tell you: I'm in no mood
to be trampled on.
On my hill, I'm looking your way
down the valley - but my mouth
has drawn a blank. I used to have
so much I needed to say -
there weren't enough hours
in the day. I'd chase my thoughts
in zigzags through the long grass.
Never could catch them, of course.
There's no need for that anymore;
this new happiness has grown inside me.
Hope planted a seed the day of my leaving -
and today it's blossoming, blossoming.
This feeling isn't mutable or fleeting -
it's a constant, my new centre of gravity.
Hope planted a seed for you too, you know.
I've been watering it as best I could.
And now, with this thaw, a loosening
of icy claws, a golden bud nudges its head
out of the snow - a little orb of light...
Shy, silent - but determined,
like an answered prayer.