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A Quest, A Song, A Story
Curating a Creative Life — Friday Photo
The two girls walked along in silence, Willow watching the steam of her breath appear in front of her and then dissipate in the muted pre-dawn light filtering in small streams through the thick clouds above. Behind her, Poppy began to hum softly one of Willow’s mother’s songs and Willow squeezed the strap of her bag; she could hear her mother’s voice in her mind and feel it in her soul.
“Will you sing the words?” Willow asked.
“I didn’t realize I was humming,” said Poppy. “I hope I didn’t upset you.”
Willow shook her head. “It comforts me. Will you sing as we walk?”
“Of course,” Poppy replied. Soon the lilt of her voice drifted along with the mist around them as they moved along the river’s edge, following it like a guide to the path Willow’s grandfather had traveled years ago on this similar quest for truth. Her mother’s words stirred life within Willow in spite of her grief and above them the sun pushed back the early morning clouds.
The rains fall as I watch you go, growing
ever smaller even as you are growing
older. Still my heart wings its way through
mist and darkness, holding fast to you and
who you are, to the truth we need
even as I watch you go, growing
in disbelief. Though much is hidden from us,
I…
