Moon Lake

Moon Lake
My mother walked me here, often as a child --
finding here the forests she had left behind.
Looking for beechnuts, wild berries, herbs, and snails...
we both were pioneers, side by side on this trail.

The miles we walked must bear our footprints somewhere.

She talked to birds and taught me their calls
and taught me not to miss the small things blooming.
We walked to our favorite place upon the hill,
and walked to the Moon Lake I had named
in early morning.

As we crossed the gravel path that led to home
(silent mostly, as the day grew warm),
the ancient oaks and butterflies
entranced me:

I was a root-child in the wind,
like in the books my Oma sent me.
I, a child whose heart was filled
with light enchanting --

I was a root-child* in the wind, forever
dancing.


*Wurzelkind, as in one of my favorite books from childhood

P.S. Mom: I miss you!