eight years ago, a poeming

do you remember what it was like,
the hammock on our screened in porch,
the acre and a half of wild wooded land 
we let nature have its way with?
do you remember running around and around 
and around (and around again) outside 
the house, joy in moving for the sake of movement,
the finding of little treasures along the way -
once, a turtle, intent on its own foraging,
too many flowers to count, figs, pears,
wild blackberries that never amounted to much.
do you remember the tumultuous storms,
the wind, the rain, tropical and thunderous?
the lightening and counting until we heard the clap,
trying to determine whether the storm 
was coming our way. 
                                     and come it did, that storm,
but the clap of thunder happened long before 
the lightening showed itself in your brain  
that white patch of hypoxia, and now it seems like 
we knew all along the storm was moving away.