April is national poetry month. Go read poetry. It's an amazing clue that is lit by a spark.
Here's a contribution to the fire ring.
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"Storybook"
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Trees whisper.
You sit by a lake
or an ocean at night,
and the world of moments
you have not yet lived
is strangely familiar again.
There is an ancient story
like that,
where an old man
finds his way to shores
by mistake,
knocks on the unfamiliar door
of a darkened coast-house
and his son,
for decades estranged and given up for dead
answers
and welcomes his father home.
Or a young girl
walks into the
storm-swept waves
and is never heard of again,
until she makes it back
to town for a funeral,
and in the cool summer evening
beneath the trees
remembers that she is that girl
and in knowing this is saved.
You know stories like that:
The fragrance of full green leaves
after rain
reminds you that you
once believed in heaven,
or the sound of your feet
on a gravel road
at twilight
makes you suddenly want
to cry
or talk to children.
This story is yours.
Look. If you go outside
and find trees,
or water,
or tall grass,
the wind will murmur it.
The world wants to tell you
why it is so tired.
