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Wednesday, April 6, 2011

What Starts
by Mary Saracino

What starts is never what arrives;
the eager door swings open
hopeful feet step on stones from here to there;
we traverse the long road from home to hinterland
wearing shoes dusty with dreams
a tattered coat, a hat soggy from sleet or dew
our bellies hungry for bread, meat, comfort;
we begin the journey as pilgrims
befriending fields & lonely mountaintops
biting brambles & whimsical wildflowers
beneficent bees & boisterous birds;
we sing to towering oaks & thorny roses
swollen rivers & murky lakes
chilling winds & replenishing rains
biting snow & blistering sun;
we end the journey as refugees
longing for where we started
uncertain of where we have arrived
our skin tougher, more wrinkled
our hearts opened, yet weary
our hopes & aspirations forever altered
by the weather, the whims of chance
the kindness or cruelty of strangers
the losses & joys, laughter & tears
gathered or spilled along the way.

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