Made by Hand

Sage Hen Day 3

The smell of sage and fir transcends time. No wonder I dreamed of you last night. The cold, the crisp crinkle of snow under boots. It makes me think of you and youth and cold flushed skin against white blue snow. We were alive. Timeless. This is where our memories live well. Nestled among the pines and incense cedars. Reveling in the scent of spring thaw. But it’s still winter according to measurements. The hard soil gives way to a warming earth. What future fire burns us out of being? How much are we to blame? Runaway wildfire children. Takes longer to heal than I ever imagined. Maybe we are just different now. And now. And even now changing.

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