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If I were 23 If I were 23 my feet tender my heart on fire If I had a soul who knew the name of itself and spent days ankle deep in fields chasing clouds What would I choose to do now? if my mind were clear if I had a back straight and strong my ears were wide open my mouth soft and closed I think I would unread every long tale of how to see the world how to be great how to climb that mountain how to make anything from myself I don’t think I would take anything for myself I think, if I were 23, but 30 years more at home in my bones I would sit cross-legged in the grass and study the ants for way too long I think I would have a favorite tree whose limbs could hold my arms and feet whose ferns would make a nest for my head and I would lie dreaming Come down only to forage berries and nuts the birds agreed to share catch long drafts of water in jars and drink Yes I don’t think I would take anything for myself now I think I would spread a blanket for the perfect me already made give it a pillow and say Dear God The world is alive I cannot focus I cannot focus on the things you require my eyes are not on the tasks for today I know they should be but they’re constantly pulled away by more exquisite things the unnoticed the unconsidered magic that plays itself through seasons like a favorite song the most soulful hymn that with every singing gets deeper more joyful more resonant in our throats These are the things my mind can’t resist the things my feet track carefully so as not to scare them away Who could resist the lithe flexibility of pine needles? their sharp edges their caramel color the perfect bed for something small that needs to hide How about the exquisite new blue dew-covered grass of morning? herbaceous and lemony just creeping there as if God said you know what this needs it needs a little blue among the green just for contrast just for depth something that with the soft kiss of dew comes alive to itself all cuddly with the green grasses too as if they were twins still wet with their birth still clinging to something quiet More than anything, though I’m in love with autumn air maybe it’s the contrast from summer’s weight maybe it’s that its face of loneliness that is something gorgeous too affirms the strangest quality of this humanity this life an aching pull clearly located in the place of my heart that floods in windows with breezes in the night both terrifying and lovely both wholesome and strange both restless and totally constant all longing, but taut with fullness Like the great blue heron herself alone in contemplation at the shore of salty seas waiting waiting patiently for her catch As I on the breeze like the deep blue grass kissed by morning sit quietly in the sublimity of this ache waiting waiting for nothing at all waiting in the bliss of itself which is prayer