sounds that echo in hollow places

---

early morning
I am hollow,
a silence still not yet filled with sounds or sights
just a running blur or a smiling champ to greet the day.

​the uncharted hours expand the day’s lungs with crisp air 
while the kick drum of my running shoes on the forest trail set the beat for a sprint in the park
then fountain and creek 
breeze and birds,
the simple symphony awakens.

thoughts come and go like leaves riding the creek water 
some falling into hollow pockets with a bubbling voice 
trapped and swirled in the puddling pools before they drop down the next cascade
and soon my own hollowness is inhabited with a memory so thick it coats my heart like fresh paint:

 when I was a kid 
 during the fall, in New England 
 when leaves swirled around in the air 
 time would slow down like I was dropped inside a snow globe 
 or sealed in a strong and secure sound envelope 
 where I would play, quite seriously, a game
 where I would try to catch a falling leaf before it reached the ground,
 if I caught the leaf it was good luck,
 I would celebrate this victory like I won an Olympic event 
 and howl at the sky.

so on this morning’s familiar trail run
my empty boat of a heart starts to rock on the waves of this memory,
I hear a shift in my hollow breath 
I feel the morning air hint at the familiar scent and temperature of fall’s arrival
and time slows the sound against the tempo of my racing heart,

suddenly a large yellow leaf falls in front of me and wraps around my face like a feisty starfish, 
I stop in my tracks 
I remove the leaf from my face 
tears flood my eyes like the creek’s puddling pools backed up with late summer fallen leaves,
I take in my surroundings through a kaleidoscope of teardrop lenses 
first to see if anyone witnessed the leaf attack, 
no, I was alone,
secondly,  to catch my breath
marveling at the fact that I am standing under a memorable tree,
standing in a memory
sparks shot through my body.

two months prior to this moment 
I sat under this tree with you
feeling grateful to be in your presence
a big yellow leaf fell towards us, 
I picked it up and twirled it in my hands 
we smiled and talked and then 
time stopped.
I have carried that moment with me through the months of being without you
it is a memory that shines in the hollow’s shadows 
the memory stops me in my tracks like a big yellow leaf in the face

now, as I collapse below the tree, I imagine you there with me 
as the salty sting of sweat and tears mix 
these memories collide
as I clear my eyes and look up into the hollowed out crest 
I mutter thanks and help me to the tree
and there
in the silent core
I see an owl shutter its’ feathers 
turn a dreamy eye toward me 
then tuck its’ head back in.
It is then when I hear the sound to fill my hollow day like a radio wave 
from the tree I receive the medicine code
the owl makes it clear:

you can trust discovering these moments, 
the sounds that echo in hollow places,
like you trust the changes in the seasons

after all, the owl had seen it all:
the leaf + the smiles
 a trail runner fascinated with what love sounds like, 
another leaf + the memory pools
and the ever forward motions to reside in gratitude for the creative way it all comes together.