Gasping at Ferns

A second chance on childhood, a second birth to take.A step back into the light, where the sun shines Brighter, Bolder, Grander, Older. Fresh feet, young legs, races in the woods. New words, clean thoughts, white smells of sweat. A look from sparkling eyes, a look three feet off the ground - where arches stretch and doors yawn - To my unceasing glee. A stumble, a scrape, a bout of quick, hot tears. Then all is forgotten, a trail is blazed, And I am Robinson Crusoe in the flesh. Surviving, thriving, fighting off the savages about. The trees – the leaves – the sparrows And snails, the squirrels, the slugs, the mushrooms, The moss! The dead and decayed, the spring shoots of my mind.

For how else am I to imagine my identity? I do so from the mind of a child, before all is cluttered and gore and gray, Before I’m swimming in the bog of decay.

No, this is my rebirth, my day to live, And I want to do so with a big smile, Gasping at the velvet touch of a fern as I hike by, So close to the world’s ground.

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