Japanese cherry trees (Sakura), a gift from Ja...

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I remember a woman wilting in line, wondering when her prescription would be filled.  The man on the bus home, with words of honey, captured a piece of me and took it with him.  The Russian women, wild orchids in Bali, offered me words to adventure with.  The cherry blossoms of Japan shared laughter and tears.  A new driver, I watched in sadness and frustration as a boy’s skull broke like a pomegranate, hit by a car I could not catch.  Growing milkweed girls gave me gifts of disgusting bits of goo.  Mrs. Sekler, who shared her special story with me alone, revealed the numerical tattoo fading on her arm, like the remnants of a vicious wasp attack.  The clinging vine I stopped calling because I became a snob taught me humility.  A group of five roommates struggled to survive and create, living like ants in an anthill.  My Canadian friend, another seed on the wind, is my lifeline to the world.  And I recall the little dog, attached to me like a burr, who had an overnight adventure.

Did I give them anything in return?  Have I nurtured and fed?  Have I harmed and destroyed?  Are some hoping to be in my garden?  Do others simply want to be free?

Lines of energy, purple as the landing strips in geraniums guiding bees to nectar, connect all, past and present.  Thick lines are strongest.  Thin lines stretch into the distance, never breaking.  If I could see them from the universe, would the earth become a spider’s web stretching from people I’ve touched to people they’ve touched to people . . .?

Lisa A. Kramer, 8/27/2005

3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Trackback: Thank You for Being a Friend « Woman Wielding Words
  2. Trackback: Defined by Who You Touch « Woman Wielding Words
  3. Trackback: People I Have Met . . . « Woman Wielding Words

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