“Stepping Back In With the Amblefowk”*


Under a canopy of gray-green,

in that liminal space in-between,

I stepped back in with the amblefowk


the ones in my line

always on the move

émigré

émigré

émigré.


They were the ones who

traded-in ‘nationality’

for a freer place to be.


A place to stretch their legs.

To tend green-and-growing things.

A freer place for hearts and love,

for themselves

and those to come.


The stepping was soft.

The steps even softer.


My feet bare,

the ground made me instantly aware

just how heavy

I had become

to myself.


Heavy as a stone.

Heavy, as in,

taking on

someone else’s story.


Have you ever done that?


Have you ever morphed yourself

into a shape

you no longer recognized?


Wandered along paths

looking for yourself?


Conjured dreams

of going back

to some seemingly

“more tightly-knit” place?


A sister reminded me today

of a holy word — belonging.


Belonging.


Be…Longing.


Be…The Longing.


Despite this world’s shredding

and shattering,

belonging is possible;


but first

we must belong

to ourselves.


Sometimes

that can be

quite an arduous voyage.


Here is to the fowk (folk)

with whom we can amble.


*The term "amblefowk" is purely an invention from my pen. Amble (Middle English: amblen, Old French: ambler, Latin: ambulare: to saunter or walk at an easy gait) + Fowk (Lallans/Lowland Scots: folk /people).


image: Jan Huber