I forget, sometimes, 

what it is to be me. In the bustle
of everyday and the demands coming
every way, I forget how to hear
that quiet voice,
how to just


into that person who is
soft, and serene, and
vulnerably and wholly at
peace with herself.

The quiet is filled with


because That Me loves and
needs the voices and
laughter and companionship
of those I love and those
I admire and those who,
bless them, love me.

That Me wants to help and
thrives on participating
and encouraging and
bringing a bit of sunshine
into the world.


  That Me
   also needs

The hush of sitting in
nature, so quiet the buzz
of insect wings is an
exclamation and the song of
whispering leaves is a

She needs the lapping and
gurgling of water that has
   greater travels
  and alpine meadows
   and has looked down at the

small greatness
of Earth
from a cloud's-eye perch
in the sky.

She needs the caress of
the breeze and the kiss of
the sun and the rain
running down her cheeks.

She needs the strain of
effort and strength of will
and accepted challenge of
lake and trail.

And as her eyes are dazzled by
the color-washed sun
settling behind the hills,

As her limbs stretch in
rebuilt muscle and her soul
in regained tranquility,

My heart beats
in patterns of eons

that transcend

the cry of minutes
and the crowding

rush of days.

-KJ Roe