The Ripples of Elizabeth
By punchenella •
In Norway,
Elizabeth was born.
I did not speak her language,
But she shared a nut with me anyway.
A straight from the tree hazelnut,
Elizabeth,
Me.
Green and hard-shelled we cracked.
Our jaws became traditional tools
And we ate.
We ate the path, muddy and steep
Well worn with bridges over quick trickle-trickle.
We filled our water bottles here
And continued to hike for . . .
Well . . . time didn't matter at all.
We ate the grass, that green grass
So alive in the valley and the wet stones
That lay by the waterside.
We showered in fresh falls dancing
On fallen trees in the rain;
No drama, no games.
And the ripples of Elizabeth disappeared
When I came back to America.