hallway between

standing in the hallway between our rooms
handing the small bell that i’d borrowed for the last eight weeks (with the seahorse shaped handle)
back to srs,
(the one i had used to call in the children from sitting (somewhat) silently in their sit-spots in the woods everyday after lunch)
and as the bell rings now, lightly, passing hands in the hallway, i imagine the moments when i’d ring it over the past weeks (of summer) and the kids would run back from where they’d been sitting on logs or leaning their backs against tree trunks to meet me on the path and show me what they had drawn or written in their journals, and always the few who hid (from the bell) because they didn’t want to go inside yet, and required extra
dragging
and prolonged ringing,
(of the bell) (with the seahorse shaped handle),
that will now go in a suitcase, and fly
back to california with srs on
sunday.

 

i brought some home

into my groundlessness when I bought a chicken,
bulb of lemongrass,
three carrots,
celery, and an
onion, to cook up a broth to lift up any road-weary bones.

sipping on sunshine.

Then I borrowed a bicycle,
panniers,
a stove,
a map, and an
extra pair of socks, and rode across the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin County.

Two nights in the redwoods,
one swim in the ocean,
can of sardines,
two avocadoes and a package of rye bread
a turmeric stained spoon and too much
couscous.

I turned off my phone when it was almost dark, and listened to the ways the sounds changed as the light faded. I yawned. I was so tired
of street lights and
crowded subway cars and the way my
shoes sounded when I walked fast on the concrete and too many
text messages.

I meandered along the river, and watched the stars peek out through the tree canopy. Then I wiggled into my sleeping bag, sinking into the bed of pine needles and leaf litter, and wrote letters to you

and you
and you
and you

and drew a picture of my tent nested in the trees. I yawned.

It was so hard to rest in the city. It was so hard to sleep with the fluorescent bulbs streaming through the windows. The loud voices. The running. I told myself to soak up the redwood wisdom and engrain the stillness of the trees into my skin. open up my pores.

you can bring this anywhere!

I brought some home.

625392_feccd2ddb9bd48e7b6787e3b091952e6

 

 

 

 

625392_b49608d06f174d10acc0c722d3e46d3c

 

 

 

 

 

 

625392_6822d659114d455a82b34e3cb9832287