Decisions Collect like Morning Dew

I belong nowhere; therefore, I belong everywhere

Hi there.

I don’t have much to offer today aside from the following poem of the week, inspired by a recent day of catharsis in questioning what my future holds and forgiving the unrealized plans of my past. In a pivotal phase of life where the practical questions weigh heavy on my mind, poetry and writing continue to keep me grounded, even by channeling emotions into abstract reflections of my current reality.

I hope you enjoy this latest abstraction, and I’ll be back again next week with more poems, insights, and nature education offerings. Thanks for following along with Foraging for More.

Poem of the Week

I am a ghost in the flesh
waiting till after the rains
to return and grow fresh. 

I love this place. 
I love that person. 
They're heading in different directions, 
so I'm getting pulled apart
and seeds surface through the tension. 

My center 
is a torn brown bag in the gutter
hovering on the breeze to cross the street. 
I belong nowhere. 
Therefore, 
I belong everywhere. 

The decisions
aren't mine to make. 
They collect like dew
suspended in spider webs for rent
between knots near my roots. 

And change
is a woodpecker
jackhammering holes through my bark
in the orchard after dark,
shaking loose fruit for the worms,
ringing the hollow heartwood I reside within. 

The Moon told me this would happen. 
But back then, I was still a squirrel
making plans from my high branches' weather forecast. 
I saw the clouds coming in
and started storing nuts. 

Some stayed sure through the winter
and the rest spread roots. 
Now those nutrients aren't mine, 
but buds for the next. 
Lucky these grubby little mitts
were grown to let go.