-Photo taken in the Brooklyn Botanical gardens. Dried Ginkgo leaves that made it through the winter and freshly fallen petals.
It’s a cliche to talk about change in terms of seasons, so I won’t. Let it be said that I’ve been traveling for a long time. I moved away from home for the first time in the first year of the millennium. I was 11. My mother painted a trunk for me. She bought me a cassette player, because I’d have to sleep without a bed time story. Since then I’ve lived on three continents. I’ve lived alone and with roommates. One year, I followed the winter as I moved. That year, I never saw summer. I should be used to this, but I’m not.
The Rumpus recently posted this Merwin poem: