a year ago today
A year ago today – I was planning a camping trip by the sea for my summer. I had not yet learned how to press flowers, my age was twenty one, and I believed a visit to the sea was necessary like air or pollen where the honey bee travels. I saved every dollar, I read field guides, I dreamed of moss and the smell of dinner roasting on a campfire. I never once thought of fear or how I would keep milk for morning oatmeal cold. I only thought of happiness, seawater, sleeping in the arms of my loved one, and a list of necessities such as a working flash light, warm clothes, and canned food for coating our bellies.
When June came, we left the city for seawater and traded the prairie for an old growth forest. We slept in our van every night and awoke to the sight of cedars and red firs breathing in the same air. We brewed cowboy coffee in a blue canister and drank it while the sun poured marigolds onto our foreheads. If there ever was an hour I loved most while camping, it was the first breath of morning, those early hours brought birds into daylight and made us feel alive.
When June came, we left the city for seawater and traded the prairie for an old growth forest. We slept in our van every night and awoke to the sight of cedars and red firs breathing in the same air. We brewed cowboy coffee in a blue canister and drank it while the sun poured marigolds onto our foreheads. If there ever was an hour I loved most while camping, it was the first breath of morning, those early hours brought birds into daylight and made us feel alive.
A year ago today – I was building a garden in my head. Now, I wonder where the time has gone. It's already March of a new year, a week away from April and soon the blossoms will be here to trick our eyesight into believing winter never was. I may not have seawater or a trail that leads to a dish of blackberries ripened by the sun. I may not have cotton blankets scented by nature's potpourri or mornings brewed with cowboy coffee. What I do have now is prairies on my feet and mountains in the skyline. I have frost warnings and flowers that grow mad in the wind. I have my grandfather's dusty binoculars and a green hat that makes the ravens in the ravine cackle.
On blue Sundays, I will long for the sea and dream of my hair being curled by the salt, but every other day I will remember those who have never been ocean bound. I have been to the seawater. I have swam. I have cut my foot on the ocean's teeth. I have heard the rocks and seashells sound like an orchestra. I have fallen asleep in the sand and woken up sunburned. I have been ocean bound and I will be again. For today, the memories of a summertime camping trip will keep the sea within me.
Where were you a year ago today?
On blue Sundays, I will long for the sea and dream of my hair being curled by the salt, but every other day I will remember those who have never been ocean bound. I have been to the seawater. I have swam. I have cut my foot on the ocean's teeth. I have heard the rocks and seashells sound like an orchestra. I have fallen asleep in the sand and woken up sunburned. I have been ocean bound and I will be again. For today, the memories of a summertime camping trip will keep the sea within me.
Where were you a year ago today?
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