Hello Toads and Tadpoles,
Happy Wednesday, this is Karin and Björn writing a poem in tandem. We have sent drafts back and forth between us starting from the idea of North. We wanted to share something common between the two of us. and both having connection to Sweden we thought we should use that in the poem and write about what the North means for us. We found that slight differences but also lots in common. Then we are each sharing an image, Karin a wonderful piece of art, and Björn a photo from one of the many rivers of the north.
|Copyright ManicDdaily aka Karin Gustafson|
My true north was summer, a place where time
melted, where grass grasped
ankles as if they were
best friends, as if grass had arms
and ankles waists, as if it weren’t too hot
to hold tight to anything but
Like my tongue, when stuck on frigid steel, I went
from silence into songs;
belonging with the woodwind, with anemones
in that loss of night
when dusk made love to dawn
my true north was summer
with strawberries and milk.
And when life drove me past
I would look for that north
in the spooling pools
of the rear view mirror,
finding again the surprise
knowing then that a return to grass should hold
In the sound of water
in the canvas pitter-patter,
in the thunder and the roar of waterfalls
behind the bending boughs of birches
with every bird
are cairns that lead me north.
Thus I find my footing,
I have walked this path before.
|Copyright Björn Rudberg|