the smell of water

I walk here every day.
The hill is steep for my old knees, but I persist.

I will smell the water,
before my feet even reach the deep, cool shade
of the little oasis beside the road.
It feels like visiting an old friend.
There are always birds here,
and small critters I can hear, and imagine,
but not see.

I whisper to the trees, grateful for their constancy.
I reach out to low hanging branches
touching their tender leaves with my fingertips and my breath.
It feels like a kiss
and i hold it softly to me as i walk past.

I walk this hill to touch my universe,
to experience life in its many forms.
I walk this hill for me,
for my soul much more than for my body.

(c) 2020 BGeiger

becoming rain

each of us are only particles,
currently assembled into sentient beings
held together by friction and stubbornness,
aware,
for the moment, of our being-ness.

surviving survival
pulled all of my strings and tore at my heart
’till my particles burned with confusion and dread.

surviving,
recreating myself,
from a bundle of tangled, broken fragments
was only the beginning.
learning to live again,
to find my own being-ness
took all of my soul’s work
and many days, and nights
and years.

when my particles disassemble this time,
I look forward
to becoming rain

The concept of becoming rain is from The Art of Living by Thich Nhat Hanh

(c) 2020 BGeiger