Just Another Cathartic Moment

Cherry tree petals stick to the rainy sidewalk like paper mache The rain keeps falling, Cold, unrelenting, demands its space. Today I sink below, constantly reminding myself to hold shoulders back. Tall, grounded, oak tree. I walk back to my home twice. First for warmer shoes and pants, second for a warmer jacket. The allure of frigid skin shivering below cold, heavy, raindrops is no longer romantic. I find myself in the field, howling at 8pm. I do not have the time on me, reminded it is 8pm by the resounding bell which has become ritual, then the following howls I look around and wonder which townhome this bell dwells. I look up at the Flatirons and remember I am here. I close eyes and stand with feet slightly more than hip width apart, Shoulders back, palms open forward, gravitational pull.

Oak tree. I try not to just think it, but to feel it. I keep thinking “Oak Tree” I feel patient, but waiting. Waiting to become the oak tree. Waiting for that great epiphany; the cathartic moment. I cozy into the sensation of leaning back. I try to breathe. How can I feel if I can’t even breathe? I breathe and try to become the oak tree. I try to become another cathartic moment in the evolution of my life. I open my eyes and see the mysterious bell passing by in the hands of a woman holding a fig umbrella in the other. Every night, rain or shine, she’s been the one. Bell resounding.