Recording the Days
Tired of navel gazing
she turned toward the stars
watched the moon wax and wane
tuned an ear to the wind in the trees
and the rain on the roof.
She hiked by the river
while tides rose and fell
watched the birds fly,
breathed scent of magnolia
and honeysuckle, damp of earth
and rot of swamp.
She tracked leafing trees
and greening grass,
counted petals, touched bark
fingered furry buds
traced scars on twigs and veins in leaves.
She dug the wormy garden soil
that mix of clay and sand and mulch
let ladybugs tickle her palms
and cobwebs brush her face.
Sick of naming her fears
she named the kinds of weeds:
henbit, bittercress, nutsedge, deadnettle
the families of trees: oak, birch, maple, fir
flowers: crocus, tulip, rose, baptisia
bees and butterflies: bumbles, sulfurs, coppers, blues.
She wrote it all down
recording the days
marking their rhythms
seeking to find
some sense in the lines of her life.
Text and photos by Christa Watters
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