IN CONCERT WITH KEEPING
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by Jeanine Cerundolo
I can’t remember whether the neighbor gave us permission to bypass his “Keep Out” sign, or if we ignored it.
Either way, I can see my feet toeing the water’s edge on a still rough rock, covered in a moss that doesn’t care to whom the property belongs.
I can feel the tickle of a fern who wanted to get close, like the puppy who gets offended if you don’t acknowledge her adorability and say hello.
I can smell the dew drops evaporating in time, sighing their way out of sight, bowing their way into the bliss of nothingness, til next time.
I can taste the scent of clouds, the ones that are so high in the sky they might be held by your eyes instead of fingers, but they feel fluffy on your tongue just the same.
It may be your backyard, but it is my sanctuary.
The way the grasses bend while stiffening to stay upright.
The way the ducks waddle until they hit the horizon of the pond, and then their swimming gives them grace.
The way the ripples of the rock I pelted into the waters wait their turn to impact each other, until they finally stop — like a singing bowl whose sound dissipates so slowly you aren’t sure which moment in its song was the final one, it melds so well with silence.
There is a way that nature likes to be.
She is stern and surrendered.
She is quick to notice, but slow to finish.
She is haughty (as she should be) and humble (her roots run deep).
She laughs like a hyena in love with unselfconscious wildness.
She cries like elephants who grieve their young the same as you and I.
She melts like raindrops hitting pavement, but leaving a mark.
She rises like the aura around the moon that is jealous of the rays around the sun.
She hides when hiding is required,
And boasts proud displays of peacock feathers when it is time to celebrate.
The tree will never see how beautiful it really is,
But I will be its mirror
For as long as it will let me
Revere
The thing
That I can not keep away from …
You cannot keep me out
From the only thing that keeps me In.
