A new year feels like the first day of school
I’m ready to fill my calendar
And start fresh.
I am a water-color painter,
a memoir-writer,
a ukulele player,
And a spiritual seeker.
Then I get sick
Or somebody dies.
End up in a fight,
Knocked over by lies.
I take a break
From the plans I made
As I hide in my room
The calendar fades.
The eucalyptus grove calls me
With its smell of green hope
Sends finger-like leaves
As a life-saving rope.
Through the trees I see sky
Dressed in three shades of blue
Dancing with white clouds in their feathery hue.
I exhale slowly and my body feels warmer
This place allows me to shed my armor.
I feel more open and I think of you
In the arms of your grove in Twenty-Twenty-Two.
VSS
January 7, 2022