Where I Would Take You
This is the arboretum, the place where I go now. The place where I go to be in the woods, to look for fresh air, to feel the warmth of the sun against my back and the cold biting at my cheeks.
This is where I walk. And walk. And walk. Trying to make sense of things. Trying to find you.
This is the pond, teeming in summer with turtles and frogs and fish and heron. Now it lies quiet, covered in a sheet of ice. No signs of life, no movement, no breath. It feels so harsh, how this place that once constantly bubbled and croaked has now gone barren and still.
How is it that you were once so full of life, and now you are still?
These are the trees, strong and steady. I come to them for their steadiness and their wisdom. I come to them because they know you. They hold me, and they hold you.
I meander along the garden paths and walk the trails through the woods. The garden beds are empty. The flowers are gone. Occasionally I see a clutter of red berries, a bit of green moss, a green fern lying limp against the ground. But mostly the landscape is dull, lifeless, an endless sea of brown and gray.
I come here because these outsides feel like my insides.
I would bring you here on a perfect spring day. We would visit these trees that know you. They would dance and sway in the wind, so happy to have you among them, so happy to see you once again walking wild and free.
We would walk the garden trails, now overflowing with green buds and blooms, amazed that something that was once so lifeless is now bursting with new growth. Look at all this color! Look at all this life! Look at all this promise of things to be.
We’d visit the pond, watching the ducks bobbing for fish and the turtles bathing in the sun. We’d see dragonflies skimming along the surface of the water, see bubbles appearing from the fish below. We’d delight in the wonder of this whole world, this amazing ecosystem, all contained in one little spot on this great big earth.
We’d look excitedly at all the treasures the kids bring to us, sharing our oohs and aahs. We’d laugh and give each other a knowing smile each time they whined about tired legs, only to suddenly find a burst of energy when they found something new to explore.
We’d take a moment to sit, to feel the sun on our faces, to share memories from our childhood and to make plans for our next visit together. We’d swap stories about house projects and weekend outings. We’d compare notes about gift ideas for our parents.
We’d watch our husbands talk together and feel proud of these little families we’ve built, these lives we’ve created, how adult we’ve become. Then we’d do something completely ridiculous and silly to remind ourselves to never grow up.
This place in the spring, full of life. This place outside, where everything feels right. This place where the trees know you, where wonder abounds, where the air is full of promise and good things to be. This is where I would absolutely take you.
This is where I walk. And walk. And walk. Trying to make sense of things. Trying to find you.
This is the pond, teeming in summer with turtles and frogs and fish and heron. Now it lies quiet, covered in a sheet of ice. No signs of life, no movement, no breath. It feels so harsh, how this place that once constantly bubbled and croaked has now gone barren and still.
How is it that you were once so full of life, and now you are still?
These are the trees, strong and steady. I come to them for their steadiness and their wisdom. I come to them because they know you. They hold me, and they hold you.
I meander along the garden paths and walk the trails through the woods. The garden beds are empty. The flowers are gone. Occasionally I see a clutter of red berries, a bit of green moss, a green fern lying limp against the ground. But mostly the landscape is dull, lifeless, an endless sea of brown and gray.
I come here because these outsides feel like my insides.
I would bring you here on a perfect spring day. We would visit these trees that know you. They would dance and sway in the wind, so happy to have you among them, so happy to see you once again walking wild and free.
We would walk the garden trails, now overflowing with green buds and blooms, amazed that something that was once so lifeless is now bursting with new growth. Look at all this color! Look at all this life! Look at all this promise of things to be.
We’d visit the pond, watching the ducks bobbing for fish and the turtles bathing in the sun. We’d see dragonflies skimming along the surface of the water, see bubbles appearing from the fish below. We’d delight in the wonder of this whole world, this amazing ecosystem, all contained in one little spot on this great big earth.
We’d look excitedly at all the treasures the kids bring to us, sharing our oohs and aahs. We’d laugh and give each other a knowing smile each time they whined about tired legs, only to suddenly find a burst of energy when they found something new to explore.
We’d take a moment to sit, to feel the sun on our faces, to share memories from our childhood and to make plans for our next visit together. We’d swap stories about house projects and weekend outings. We’d compare notes about gift ideas for our parents.
We’d watch our husbands talk together and feel proud of these little families we’ve built, these lives we’ve created, how adult we’ve become. Then we’d do something completely ridiculous and silly to remind ourselves to never grow up.
This place in the spring, full of life. This place outside, where everything feels right. This place where the trees know you, where wonder abounds, where the air is full of promise and good things to be. This is where I would absolutely take you.