Our stories lie down in the orchard, their time is not now, but something is
coming, something is going away. They
rise to the stars, and wait to be told.
There are listeners who know how little
we know, how much we are feeling.
We had to go our own way, a little off course,
always, no matter how specific the directions
seemed at the time. In this universe if we’re lucky,
we will live in our children’s stories,
their tales that will turn us to legend,
some absurd truth that has nothing to do
with our plans, our meticulous records.
No matter what stories we discard or keep,
they will give us a life we cannot imagine.
Jeanne Lohmann
from The Light of Invisible Bodies
2 comments:
Such a nice poem ,I enioyed reading :)
"liminal places and the wild wisdom" indeed.
traveling through your blog makes the world seem endlessly wonder filled.
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