A Shadow Becoming

I walk through dunes of sand,

occasional water hole puddles reflect a version of me
I do not recognize.

Other days…

Where eroding paths beneath my feet
create unanswerable questions  
in the soft moss of doubt,
the worn stones of memory,
and roots of longing

wrestle my balance into tripping

as I try to run.

Above…

The sky is indifferent,
a scrim of shifting clouds
that never settle into decisive meaning.

Wind…

When asked,
answers only with movement,
never needing to identify any other way.

Trees beside me…

Have no need to ask,

knowing well their purpose

 to stretche upward,
limbs needing only sunlight and water,

thankful of bark etched with patient time,
its shade a quiet heritagge
to the weary traveler,
knowing the contribution to need

is enough.

Further the quest…

A rose opens
without apology,
its petals blush
as if kissed by the sun,
its fragrance a balm
to the broken-hearted
who pass by
and when nighttime brings closure

the velvet embrace remembers,
if only for a moment,
what beauty feels like.

The hawk circles,
eyes sharp as truth,
talons curled with certainty.
It does not hesitate.
It does not pretend.
The mouse scurries
through the underbrush,
quiet as a whisper of survival,
as its heartbeat like a drum
of ancestral fear,

brings clarity,

even in terror.

Yet…

 I continue wearing borrowed skin,
speak borrowed dreams,
chase borrowed stars

 flickering out
before I reach them.

Learning…

Purpose is not a lightning strike.
it is the slow bloom
of a wildflower in a forgotten field,
where the quiet unfolding
of a fledgling’s wings knows the moment

to be the bird it was meant to be has arrived.
Time to fly.

Might it be…

I have been lost.
My shadow becoming.
And that is enough?

A glance into the pool of water

Mirrors a face gaining presence.

Why do we strive so hard
to become what we were not born to be?

Is it fear of truth

or

my shadow becoming?

I’d rather be disliked for who I am

Than be loved for who I am not.