“The tree knows everything”, image borrowed from creating patterns on flickr.

Another writing exercise to free the muses ~
They say the first step is going into your childhood and remembering…
Not sure why this is quite a challenge for me…
But I’m really enjoying the journey too.
Remembering
I don’t remember much…
But I do remember summers spent in the country.
I remember the long rides and the rough roads,
which seemed as endless as my thirst for adventure.
I remember how my city eyes took no time
to adjust to the new palette,
and how the warm hues
weaving through the rolling hills
added an unexpected twist
to the tapestry of my life.
I don’t remember what anyone said…
But I do remember being lost in wonder.
I remember the bucolic landscape
and how I’d craved it
without even knowing it before.
I remember my face lit up with glee
and the sense that
there was finally no distance
between myself and the world.
I don’t remember if we sang…
But I do remember the blue wagon window down,
the cool breeze kissing my rosy cheeks.
I remember the smell of tall grass
and the occasional glimpse of cows
leisurely eating, resting on the shade
and gazing at the green open fields
in somewhat of a meditative state.
I remember thinking:
This is how life should be.
I don’t remember who welcomed us…
But I do remember the mango trees.
I immediately knew what they were
as soon as the air was filled with their sweet fragrance.
I carried with me stories of how my mother
used to climb and sit on the sturdy branches,
and how she picked and peeled
ripe, yellow, freshly picked mangos.
I remember longing to taste a mango
that came from a tree, not from a store.
And then I planned to live forever
in abundance, just like that.
I don’t remember the kids names…
But I remember watching them attentively,
so I could learn from their every move.
I remember them playing catch,
running freely through the corn fields,
splashing loudly in the river
and feeding the chickens.
I remember we all shared laughs,
messy clothes, and something more
subtle and hard to pin point.
I think what we shared was simple joy
and the same kind of lightness in our hearts.
I don’t remember doing much…
But I do remember all the smells, tastes, images, feelings.
I’m learning that I’ve always been introspective
and deeply lost in thought and study.
I remember a phrase I read before
that said: “I’m a fool for beauty.”
And that is what I have been all along…
And that, once again, is what I’m proving to be
in this poem… Just a fool,
feasting madly, in the allure
of these childhood memories.