I grew up hearing,
And eventually believing,
That to be ignorant
Of things that are,
And that have been,
Is to be at peace.

And perhaps hence,
I shoved events
Less than pleasant,
Out of sight,
And out of my mind,
For the longest time,
Pretending, that all was fine.

Fine has a way
Of showing up,
Every single day,
In the laughter
All around you,
And the spring
In the steps,
That others are taking.

In looking around,
And seeing fine,
In all its shine,
I stopped to listen,
And I realized,
Not without a pang,
That my heart sang,
To a tune, so painfully sad;
Not quite the zing,
That I was hoping
It would be.

And so,
When fine
Had let me know,
That we weren’t together,
I went on a walk,
A rather long one –
Down a forest trail,
To witness the tale
Of restoration,
In nature’s bosom;
The tale of healing,
From wounds so deep,
As if they’d never been.

On my journey back,
I found I’d lost track,
Of everything that
Had sought to distance me,
From fine.

A walk in the greens,
Appears to be,
The perfect remedy,
To making friends
With being fine.

Image Credit: Photo by Mary on StockSnap