Words are the clothes that thoughts wear--
only the clothes.
I want to tell you about the sights and sounds that surround me
of those whispering pines in the breeze
of a constant unknown humming
of a whistling tune echoing across the cool clear water coming from nowhere
making this girl smile while remembering a woman she loved whistling that same tune long ago
of acorns falling and landing on the tin roofs with a bang
of three women with coffee in hand chatting about the beauty that surrounds
all watching a girl sitting on the end of a dock waiting for words that may never come.
Peaceful blank words spread across the waters
across the dock
overtop of this girl
floating to the top of the oak trees that throw their acorns to the ground
reminding this girl waiting for the right words
that it is OK if there are none.