Long but not so long ago
while wandering
a woman forgot herself
and remembered
a story about herself.
This story was so big, so bold
(quite extraordinary really)
that the blades of grass
paused in their greenish ways
cocked to sky-blue rapture.
And out of this hush
rushed
more longed-for truths
(the truths of hers and yours and mine)—
all because
she stopped
for a story.
This isn’t a great one, but I’ve shared it anyway because of the way it was written: this was a playful poem, thrown down quickly in November, 2019, before hosting a sacred storytelling circle. Since edited.
PHOTO: Edward Eyer/Pexels
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