Wish


We have been running free in the woods again, Dog and I, following knots of pathway. Around us trees bend and snake in deliberate shapes, brambles set sinuous ankle traps, fallen logs are my balance beams. Dog is puff and leaf-smacking wag: when she is gone on her chases I hear leaves break stem and land.
Spiders throw galleon lines: they love to play Pirates.
It doesn't have to make exact sense, it is what you want it to be; so we run and we are as we wish. If there is a means to break this spell I will never seek it.




Comments

Heather Robinson said…
When I was aged 4-7 years old we lived on the farm that my Mom grew up on, so far outside of the tiny town of Colerain, Ohio that our mail came to a road with our families name on it. In those days, weather whatever, my Mom would open the door and out I would go spending hours doing just what you and Dog do. I think it is what formed me more than anything.
9 October 2013 at 11:37
Suze said…
'It doesn't have to make exact sense, it is what you want it to be;'

Bit strange. When I first read this, I thought it said, 'it is what you meant it to be;' and it wasn't until I scrolled back up to copy it that I saw the words that were really there.

Enchantments abound ...
9 October 2013 at 17:56
Lisa Southard said…
Heather those were beneficially formative years indeed- we had coastline and castle grounds for frolics in my home town. Lucky us!
Suze that must have been want you wanted to read! Hope you are still enchanted by your new climate :-)
9 October 2013 at 23:33
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