The Path by the Moving Water
by Jane Lang
After the painting Walk in Beauty by Ann Huston

This is where your words reach my ears
touch my heart.
This is the path we walked when I was young.
I would bend down, pick up shiny rocks
and you would say,
“These are wishing stones.”

You pointed across the water, told me the
naked cottonwood held our secrets.
I walk the path most days.
I reach for the edges of the old, soft
trade blanket and pull your love more
securely around my shoulders.

I look at the bare, strong, supple tree across
the water, shiny rocks in my left hand.
There will soon be a child, I whisper, a gift
like the babe in the stable.

Words from my heart to her ears.
I gently rub the wishing stones.


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