Pickles
Do you remember your grandpa’s cabin?
Where signal vanished like mist at dawn
And silence held its breath beneath the pine
as you read to me, words drifting like wind
I tried to listen, I swear I did,
but sleep folded me soft into earth
When I woke, wildflowers wove
through the tangles of my hair,
and somewhere close,
a campfire whispered of stories half forgotten
Do you remember when I sat up,
and you were already watching
like an artist studying a half dreamed painting
I sank into the canvas of your gaze,
turned a shade of pastel red,
washed in watercolor pink
I haven't felt the same since
Do you remember the heat?
The forest bursting into prairie bloom
your brother on my shoulders as we ran
to the crooked hose behind the shack,
where laughter trickled
like cold water on bare skin,
and summer peeled itself
from our shoulders like old bark
I disappeared slowly,
like dew into moss
And you,
you found me in the hush of the woods,
your footsteps soft as memory
You brought new color to the trees,
new focus to the canvas,
as if your eyes rewrote the world
I remember the cliff
that stood like a cathedral above us
We climbed, and when we rose,
the valley opened like a hymn
moose grazing in the hush,
fish racing ribbons in the river
And you,
the way your braids caught the wind,
the little bump at the end of your nose,
eyes deep brown turning amber
in the mercy of morning light
I forgot how to swim
I don’t remember what came between
the midnight tickle fights
and the blueberry muffins at dawn
only that you wore my shoes
with the laces pulled loose
like a secret you left behind
But I remember your grandpa and I
talking of our bikes,
the sun leaning low,
while you slept in your usual way
a slow kind of magic
I waited
But time came like it always does
and we left,
Drove home,
Stopped for pickles halfway there
I didn’t break the seal, my souvenir of that forest
May 24
May 24, 2026 at 10:02 AM UTC
Pickles
Do you remember your grandpa’s cabin?
Where signal vanished like mist at dawn
And silence held its breath beneath the pine
as you read to me, words drifting like wind
I tried to listen, I swear I did,
but sleep folded me soft into earth
When I woke, wildflowers wove
through the tangles of my hair,
and somewhere close,
a campfire whispered of stories half forgotten
Do you remember when I sat up,
and you were already watching
like an artist studying a half dreamed painting
I sank into the canvas of your gaze,
turned a shade of pastel red,
washed in watercolor pink
I haven't felt the same since
Do you remember the heat?
The forest bursting into prairie bloom
your brother on my shoulders as we ran
to the crooked hose behind the shack,
where laughter trickled
like cold water on bare skin,
and summer peeled itself
from our shoulders like old bark
I disappeared slowly,
like dew into moss
And you,
you found me in the hush of the woods,
your footsteps soft as memory
You brought new color to the trees,
new focus to the canvas,
as if your eyes rewrote the world
I remember the cliff
that stood like a cathedral above us
We climbed, and when we rose,
the valley opened like a hymn
moose grazing in the hush,
fish racing ribbons in the river
And you,
the way your braids caught the wind,
the little bump at the end of your nose,
eyes deep brown turning amber
in the mercy of morning light
I forgot how to swim
I don’t remember what came between
the midnight tickle fights
and the blueberry muffins at dawn
only that you wore my shoes
with the laces pulled loose
like a secret you left behind
But I remember your grandpa and I
talking of our bikes,
the sun leaning low,
while you slept in your usual way
a slow kind of magic
I waited
But time came like it always does
and we left,
Drove home,
Stopped for pickles halfway there
I didn’t break the seal, my souvenir of that forest
I still have the pickle jar some 2 years later. I wish I could post an image on here showing it in my nightstand.
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