• Kirsten Freeland (Photo: Trish Freelend)


And so,

I will whisper it to the wind, the river, and the trees,

And they will carry it through to the place

that can only be felt,

and not seen.

The place where my love still lingers

and waits for you I suppose.

Where I see your hands,

Where I feel your touch,

Where I remember your kiss,

Where you still make me laugh,

Where I am still loved,

And always held.

One of my favourite authors, Mark Nepo, said that "poetry is the unexpected utterance of the soul". Maybe that was the case when these words surfaced. I don't know much about poetry, and it certainly wasn't my intention. It was just a reaction. An expression. Of turning my frustration, my inability to communicate, into something new. Naturally, and unconsciously, I had been trying to breach the intangible place. Maybe that is when my soul took a turn, and offered it all up to nature. I envisioned this spot. If there was any place that would carry my words through, it would be there. Where the power of the river would force passage through time or find a way through the eternally blocked doorway. I have always believed the soul can be a guide, but I never understood how to access it. As it turns out, I didn't have to. It accessed me.

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