I wonder what your hands are doing, while mine chop onions for dinner.
I wonder what your eyes are seeing, while mine gaze at the fresh spring green of the pineapple weed and aspen trees in the yard.
I wonder what your ears are hearing, while mine catch the song of the sora, the red-winged blackbird, the marsh wren.
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| Wild Roses |
I wonder what enters your nostrils, as mine inhale a warm breeze that has blown in from across the chilcotin plateau.
I wonder what your tongue tastes, as mine savors the last of the root cellared roasted beets, carrots and parsnips.
I wonder what your arms are holding, while mine bring in more pine for the cookstove.
I wonder what your are thinking, while I stumble about with my daily routine, preoccupied with trivialities.
I wonder, but I cannot imagine.
I am sorry.
