Hays Field

the mornings
which could have been early or late
dew on the grasses at the bottom
just drying up on top
running fingers over the tips 
feet following the path
up Hays field
looking for the milkweed
blossoms still tucked into their tidy and perfect felt pockets
the flight path of the monarch leading my way
eyes closed
I can smell the earth
smell the sounds of the day
and I am one with this all
my universe
finding my place
not knowing I needed to be found.

Only later,
having to call what I had been given a name
thinking on the experience
of being wild in the wild
connections to trees and grass and sun and rain
it was a life
and it was mine.

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