Of Finger ships

Each footprint

marks my track

as I step

into moist air

open spirit to sky

inhale blue

and exhale shades of grey.

The mountains hold

the rain to come.

The trees lean in.

Anticipate

the coming wind.

Leaves surf in circles,

then settle gently

nesting on the earth.

Each day

brings a new adventure

with the unexpected wind.

A bell sounds

at the iron gate.

and a visitor drops their stone.

Each voyage

brings expansion of

the conversation with ourselves.

We make an

election of decision,

with deliberate intention;

an act of rebellion for some.

Others use distraction

to set aside their chat.

Each selection,

adds to the collection.

A shoulder bag, worn thin,

shoes with long green laces

and tokens

to ease my passage,

through the shallows,

where the fish arrive

to greet my finger ships.

As they taste the tips

I search the

disembarking crowd,

for glimpses of myself.

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This story also appears on Medium by Tree Langdon, the author.