A place

You like the sense of a place.
How the spring blends into summer
and into fall and winter,
and the memories you make
with your loved ones
in all these seasons
in this place
stays with you
even as you go far, far away.

You long for this place.
You long for the sound of the river.
You like the wetness of the air.
You like the strength of the sun.
You like how snow blankets your beloved place.
And you like how the forests and prairies
sing again in the spring.

You remember your first kiss on that lovely walk
with that crazy boy
who wrote poems
and sang for you.
You remember the time your friend held you close
because you couldn't stop crying.

Your memories of self blends with nature
in this place.
In this place, you're more than you.
You have a root, memories of a lifetime,
you have tears and laughter,
friends and families and lovers,
the two oak trees, mullberries,
maples, sycamore, milkweed, blazing stars,
green, bright green, and yellow and red,
spring peepers, a snapper,
a lonely runner passing you by,
kids on their bikes.

All these pull you back
as you mercilessly pull yourself away
to go to a distant shore
as if only to divide you again,
only to become less than yourself,
and only to carry the memories of a lifetime
in your quiet heart.