nothing that will ever matter

memoir from the plum pine

stones sat for decades cold

alone where moss grows

good morning, goodbye

in the freshwater creek

which, cold to the touch

fingertips disturb a week

of solitude and silence

so float away, disperse

awakening and awoken

see you again - when?

eternal slumber only lasts till morn

and you are left to grow again

please - come again, when it is warm

[ memoir from the plum pine up north, spending summers in solitude ]