Those Old Crickets

We look intently back on the paths we’ve walked.

You on yours and I on mine.

Sometimes intersecting, sometimes near,

But more often than not the journeys have drifted to the poles,

Scurrying apart as the gravity of,

Space and time and ego,

Brought brevity to our shared experience.

But here we are.

Now.

Now. An ever expanding moment in creation.

And as the crickets chirp,

The me who was, is not the me who is,

And the pain and the wounds won’t hold me,

And the hurt and the regret won’t hold you,

And we live and we laugh,

And we bathe in the chorus of the insects,

As their wings breathe life into our humble bones,

Our irreverent lungs,

Our beating, pulsing hearts,

That bleed loss, love, and redemption.

What’s given cannot be taken,

We share these shoes, these shores, these shackles,

And we won’t be shaken.

The creatures of the grass,

They squeak, peep and twitter as we bravely move forward.

Together.

Those old crickets chirp.

And we move forward.

Those old crickets chirp and we old souls walk,

Beneath the leaves and moss and the never ending night sky.

Never hoping,

Never daring,

To look back.