There

Under the shadow of the trees
where you will find the bright
eyes of children.
That memory
neither crisp nor linked in
any way to fact
but still, deep as dye,
it never fades
only gathers layers over
time. What
was it like
to play, the heat
inside you, the day
at the edges or
gone while
you were
mesmerized?
The scent of oak
the hum of
various bees and flies,
fluttering of wings and
leaves, a light coat
of dust over your
calloused feet
and sweat sweet
as the spit in your
mouth, intense with
longing, as you
climbed,
limb by limb
into that mystery
of green.

"There" is dedicated to Zenobia Barlow and the Center for Ecoliteracy. Copyright © 2010 Susan Griffin. Reprinted with permission.