Love Don’t Always Mean Staying
When together is lonely
Here’s what I remember most about that night. The cry of the loons. Crazy thing is, doesn’t matter how much I think back, still can’t figure out where or how that sound got in my body. Ears, maybe, but I don’t think so.
More like my pores drank the sound until I was near drunk with it.
Sitting on the lake under a midnight moon listening to the cry of the loons across the water, felt like something called out to my soul and darned if it didn’t answer. Like I’m some little wild thing never sent to school.
Ain’t much in life makes a body feel those sensations, wild and untamed. Lone wolf howling in the distance while hens run in circles, daddy a shadow off in the distance. Fire a shotgun in the air. Scare it off.
Sandhill cranes leaving for the winter. I’m standing at the edge of the water as they fly overhead and my soul ain’t down here with me, it’s up there. Some sounds, you don’t hear so much as feel. In your soul.
Haven’t hardly lived if you ain’t felt those kinds of sounds. Like Mary Oliver said, breathing just a little and calling it a life. Nature calling to itself, hair on my arms standing up, whispering I’m nature too, don’t you forget.
