I could tell you about

I could tell you about the dirt path that begins at the fence across the street, that leads through sweet smelling wild grasses, across the bike path, past the tall cypress that holds presence on this ever changing beach, through the parking lot of the state park, over the dunes where it turns into a narrow sandy path that winds through ice plants over the rise to that incredible view of wide open ocean. I could tell you about following my son along this pathway as he rides his toy motorcycle or following both my sons as they run and race, laughing. I could tell you about what I think about when I follow them like that along the dirt path, watching and breathing - my death. This is the moment I'll come back to at the end, I imagine, satisfied and grateful, knowing I have lived.

I could tell you about the sky right now - how huge and wide open it is - with the fog half way in - or the ocean, loud today.

Or I could tell you about the sound of my neighbor's American flag or my own curtains blowing in and out of the open doorway this afternoon, as I lay still in my bed, resting, my inner slate being wiped clean. I could tell you about how grateful I am that I see it now, the sky I mean, that my senses are alive, awake again after a day of rest.

I could tell you about what gives me life these days - rest, silence, earth, dancing - and what leads me down into sorrow and regret.

I could tell you about that sound just then - the one where wind combined with ocean - making me look up to see who's coming - maybe you? - only to realize once again that all is quiet and still in the noise.

I could tell you about writing these words here with this pen that was given one amazing day in Michigan - how it delights me to pen them and listen to my deeper self - bold woman that she is - even though I know these are only words - fragments - like my self - that will one day disappear - the wind carrying them down the dirt path back to ocean.

Still I delight to write.