Dawning Creations

The wind blew through me,
underneath this naked tree.
High on the peak,
it takes me back to a time I can’t remember.

It always does.
There’s a memory under the surface.
The memory is struggling to stay relevant each time
I make this pilgrimage.

I could try to close my eyes.
I could climb up the tree
and let myself hang loosely and precariously.

I heave myself up the tree,
the wind makes the higher boughs moan,
But I’m fearless, climbing higher and higher.

At the top, I’m touching the sky.
Grazing the clouds with my finger tips,
I pray this will render me into remembering.
Nothing comes to me,
and I want to give up.

The sky opens up,
a cold rain dampening the stiff branches,
making them slippery.
I hold tight and let it pass.
Sopping and chilly, I start to climb as it stops.

I see through the soft pitter patter of rain dripping from branches, a figure standing by the cliff’s edge.
Her curly hair is unmistakable.
It was me, just hours before.

I was spinning and jumping,
The sun was luminescent and orange
with the dull glow of early morning.

I lay down laughing,
and say a prayer.
I continue watching myself and ponder on,
wondering if I should venture over.

Daring my now unsteady limbs,
I continue making my way down the tree.
When I reach the bottom,
the sun is gone.
It is night.

I am alone again.