We are gatherers,
the ones who pick up sticks and stones
and old wasp’s nests fallen by the
door of the barn,
walnuts with holes that look like
eyes of owls,
bits of shells not whole but lovely
in their brokeness,
we are the ones who bring home
empty eggs of birds
and place them on a small glass shelf
to keep for what? How long?
It matters not. What matters
Is the gathering,
the pockets filled with remnants
of a day evaporated, the traces of
certain memory, a lingering smell,
a smile that came with the shell.
Nina Bagley
That’s me…in a nutshell. Which, by the way, I also pick up!
Love the poem!
It’s a wonderful poem and I’m not all surprised you like it too!
Acorns! I have a thing for acorns. 🙂
Yes, to acorns! I’ve made cute little “acorn people”, using sticks for the body…I’m sure you get the idea.
How cute!!!
It’s hard to not be a collector of the little wonders of nature that cross our paths!
It is! Sometimes I’m happy to just observe them along my path but there are times it’s impossible to leave them behind.