(I took this photo yesterday of my father. He still works as a landscaper, at 83! He helps to take care of this beautiful property for his friend, who died a couple of years ago. He helps to lovingly tend it for her children who currently live elsewhere.)
your whispering legacy haunted
those delightfully enchanted trees
they bashfully danced to the harmony’s spell
you cast on ebullient breeze.
gentle tread of your variegated spirit
Thirteen years have already passed Dresden, and I still remember the way your venerable spirit soaked through my pores, filling my lungs with a new language.
But it wasn’t until my beloved friend started to sing, that my heart translated the stories she told me, the unspeakable truths of her tormented past.
Never have I been so moved by sound, the waves joyously belying the stripped beneath. Struggling to remain standing, my heart already on its knees, Perspective winded me in all tenses.
If ever anyone should bow to any sense of venerable, it was now, at her humble feet. I took a photo, one that should be in the dictionary…
From my husband’s Instagram:
“So, while on the beach we came across the very last of Nena’s 99 red balloons. But, then it started to rain and Vanessa said we had to save it. So, here I am, doing my part, to preserve a little bit of pop culture history.”
You are welcome world.