Wednesday, June 03, 2009

Ivy of the wild

You weave and climb and entwine and change colors with the seasons and never die. I thought you were just part of the beautiful landscape. I thought the sculpted stones you wrapped around held you up. I did not know it was the other way around. I did not know I inhaled your purest green of spring and exhaled your darkest red of autumn.

You are what I breathe. How could I not have known that? I have been told, shown, reflected and mirrored that endless times over these years. But those tales haven't always been easy to hear, the strength of heroes and villains too raw. And the shows, while breathtaking, have left the audience unsettled and uncertain. Reflections cannot be trusted, mirrors gather dust. I have never believed what I saw. Never trusted what I heard.

And so, here I am. You've waited patiently for me. You will watch me as I twist and wind and follow the path you made for me years ago. You will be at my side as I lose my fear of your darkness, you will witness my brave, blind steps into this wilderness. You will photograph the wave as it crashes into me - a revelation - each precious drop captured in suspended animation.


stacy smith said...

I am stricken by the poetic clarity of your writing. I can feel the evisceration and the cold steel stab.

This is a powerfully leveing metaphor.


stacy smith said...

hmm. I meant to post this comment for the knives, but I see that if also fits the Ivy.

While the knives left me stunned, the ivy squeezes grief and horror from deep within me.

The brave, blind steps are the definition of the goodness of life moving forward, and I am able to breath relief for the direction they will find. Even though that direction is accompanied by the presence of the vine, those steps will now determine the course. Not the other way around.

I do believe I have found a sister.