Today, Samantha walked beside me
on the winding path I know by heart—
the Shadow Creek Trail, where trees remember
and the wind speaks in sighs of knowing.
We passed the pond from my visions,
that sacred mirror of stillness.
A lone cormorant waited, just as before,
a sentinel in silence,
while an osprey circled above,
tracing invisible prayers into sky.
The banks were crowned in golden dreams—
a field of dandelions stretching wide.
We laughed like girls again,
tempted to pluck and blow,
to make a wish
as if the world might grant it
if only we asked sweetly.
We found a wooly bear caterpillar,
furry prophet of change,
clinging to a stem like a secret.
Soft, slow, sacred.
Honeysuckle hung heavy in the hedgerows,
sweetness waiting for a willing tongue.
Samantha had never tasted spring this way.
So I showed her—
how to pull the white thread,
how to let the nectar kiss her lips.
The ritual of joy passed down
like a blessing from the wild.
Raspberries were blushing on their branches—
not quite ready, but ripening.
Much like me.
Much like the dreams I hold gently in my chest.
A bird startled from the brush,
a flash of gray and song.
Tufted Titmouse, I said,
and it felt good to know her name.
A cardinal flared red like a flame.
And overhead, a hawk’s cry
pierced the space between questions.
Near the bend, I saw her—
Heal-All, in bloom.
Prunella vulgaris,
medicine wrapped in violet petals.
As if the Earth herself whispered,
You are healing. You are healed.
I showed her my trees.
Tristessa, noble across the bayou.
The cottonwood sisters—three giants—
roots deep in memory,
branches woven with stories.
Then, a curious sign:
four green stalks with bulbs,
wild onion or garlic,
harvested but left behind.
We found more in the soil,
but the Earth held tight.
Why leave them? Why now?
We didn’t know.
Not everything yields its meaning
on the first try.
Some truths are meant to be pondered,
not plucked.
And so we walked.
Two women,
one trail,
and a thousand messages
spoken in birdcall and bloom.
The Earth sang to us today—
in symbols, in sweetness,
in mystery and moss.
And I remembered again:
I am not just on the path.
I am the path.
And it is walking me home.
