In those days, the water ran clear.
The warm air carried the sweet perfume
of summer fruit
and the green was soft and mossy underfoot
and the green was cool and shady overhead
and the green was a melody that surrounded her.
and changed its mind
turning the water to mud
plucking the fruit from the barren branches
scorching with rays that sucked dry the bones
of the earth.
And she wandered, bare feet sliced by the
sharp stones along her path,
a desperate thirst burning her throat and stealing
Her sanity was a pocket
In which she held a treasure as precious as
the life of a child,
as essential as laughter
as salt, as rain.
It was a patch of green – only a remnant
but it breathed, and it cooled, and it quenched.
One small oasis for the journey
One small reprieve
as she trudged through the wasteland
living for her memories
knowing that the days of green
could never return
but holding them still
and dancing to the whispers
of the melody that
used to play.