Dry Ground


Just beneath the surface of life,
a river used to surge;
fierce, electric,
so much moving now still.

Daily patterns recur,
iterate like memes incessant;
bristle; get out of my head;
slow, attune, resume,
each day hard-won,
a better view to…

The heart of the matter.
Where is it.
That sweet spot where we make out,
tender, humane, achingly beautiful
stories told:
a long conversation,
a road trip with a friend,
a clearing through woods,
a way that is new, open, reassures,
speaks to me —

Why am I wowed by that?

Ah, well, fellow traveler,
the rain won’t materialize,
so let’s try another coffee.
Or something.

Copyright © Kelly Huntson and kellyhuntson.com  All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading. Stay safe. We’re in this together. x