Learning to Hear

It’s eight long years since we walked off the hot terror of the thieves that stole into my head and squatted on the side porches of my brain with their baggage of migraines, confusion, and wild spinning rides in my very own bed. Then, we thought the surgery that took them and the nerve we shared was a brutal turn, the lesser of two evils, a tragic chapter in a story that had held such promise. Today we walk the soft river trail, smell the fresh morning breath of sycamores shaking off their slumber, splashing sunlight we can taste like chilled summer chardonnay. I watch you chatter and flit like the eastern bluebirds that have colonized the park for another season, and I wonder how to tell you that the last echoes of the white noise of effort have finally died away and I can hear clearly the crystalline voice that has always been in the wind. Sandy Shugart Psalm 104: “You make the winds your messengers”