There's something with the way the air has been tasting lately; a gentle reminder of apples and 5th grade spelling bees. I'm excited to hear the songs float once again through my ears and right into my still beating heart. "The wheels go round and round…" and the mist of old smiles comes right along with it. Like a gracious pet I've kept locked up for far too long this year.
This is existence at its finest. And what if I'm not seen anymore? Does that make the grass any less green or the sky any less blue? What if I'm replaced? Will it make the birds stop singing or the deer not to run?
This existence I respire is life at every turn, and with the turns come deep and shallow ends. If I drown now in the shallow, how will I learn to swim in the deep? The waves may, at first glance, seem too much to handle.
Battle upon battle may be filling up every remaining portion of those weak and weary lungs. And in this era the instinct is to raise the white flag and give the gun something to eat, but I shield myself with bended knees and a body that is no longer mine.
Death came once, and no longer can it pass upon me. The anxiety and apprehension that came with those waves seems, now to me, a generation ago.
Light came and was young at first, but with time and truthful words filling the gaps in my wounds, my senses could taste something besides the salt water.
I grow with the apple trees. I grow with the waves.
It's forthcoming but not always easy. The roots and budding experiences hurt at times, but I grow with the pain.