I try to remember What I walked into the store to buy The words to my favorite song To pack my raincoat, just in case. Also, I try to remember When the fireflies synchronized their lights last year And all the secret rock ledges the green salamanders shelter in I try to remember How many times I heard the great-horned owl call to its mate in November, or was it December? Sometimes I worry I will forget The kettle on the stove, Where I keep the batteries for the flashlight To feed the dog before I walk out of the door. But even more, I worry I will forget To don my best coat and attend the woodcock’s sunset skydance in February To rejoice when the sassafras leaves unfurl their palms towards the light in spring I worry I will forget To feel the thrill of the first wood thrush song calling summer into the deep green forest. Sometimes I am afraid I will forget To trust in the process To tell you ‘I love you’ before we say goodbye I am afraid I will forget The sound of your voice after you are gone I am afraid I will forget The beauty of the twisted trunk Was born out of raging winds and a yearning for light That when my heart is grieving to see my favorite tree fallen This may become the birthplace of your favorite tree Most of all, I am afraid I will forget When the darkness of night is bearing down So heavily I cannot breathe The sun always rises.
This past year in the gorges was filled with images and light that I hope I never forget. My favorite memories of the gorges: a barred owl watching my boat glide into Gaddy’s Cove and not flying off. And the sound and site of four cubs with their mother moving through leaves along the shoreline of Howard’s Creek, or me motoring past an Eagle standing on a river rock.
Lovely poem, Tricia. Thank you! My wish for you is that all the memories, the sights and smells and sounds, will live in your heart even if they fade from your mind.
This past year in the gorges was filled with images and light that I hope I never forget. My favorite memories of the gorges: a barred owl watching my boat glide into Gaddy’s Cove and not flying off. And the sound and site of four cubs with their mother moving through leaves along the shoreline of Howard’s Creek, or me motoring past an Eagle standing on a river rock.
Lovely poem, Tricia. Thank you! My wish for you is that all the memories, the sights and smells and sounds, will live in your heart even if they fade from your mind.