Postcard from the path

I’d like to send you a postcard of

The morning chill scent of pine.

The exact brilliant green of new trees after rain.

The calm in my chest while my feet meander along a stream.

I’d like to capture

The absence of bitter things in my mouth, like

“We don’t have the time to…”

“Hurry up and…”

And “we can’t because.”

I’d like to infuse my postcard with

The holiness of a body-based alarm clock.

The re-remembering of what it is to feel rested.

The taste of… well, anything… after climbing up a mountain.

If I wrote in very tiny letters, I’d also describe

The view from the top,

Where I can see all the thorny things like

Zeroes in bank accounts.

Thousands in email inboxes.

The bile in my belly at being misunderstood.

It’s funny.

They didn’t go anywhere, those thorns.

But from way up here, they’re not as sharp.

Not as insistent.

Maybe I’ll send two postcards,

One for you, and one for me.

So I can remember what it’s like to see the thicket of thorns

But not be entangled in them.

Where I can see that

The brambles can also be beauty.

After all, that’s what’s really clear from up here -

A million shades of green -

It's the texture of life.