(I have no idea if the purple flowers I saw were actually heal-alls but I am always itching for good omens)
I sometimes look out at birds and wish I was them. And mountains
Oh, the mountains,
Sending tears down their slopes
rippling and shaking
You’re halfway there
The overlook is worth it
Mud-lined and alive
Breathing
Smooth rock beneath slick shoes, slipping
Beds of Heal-Alls, purple and singing, lining that
path of earth
disturbed by beating boots
Breathing, too, soothing scratched calves.
Heal-Alls:
I suppose for those moments
they did.
