The Toll

​The Toll

I was away, happily
Now, returned again
To the home grounds
Called by an inaudible voice
Toward her centering flow.
I look about and wonder
Has she changed?

I have
To travel to new lands 
Does that, gets into your bones, infuses your blood. 
New sources refresh the spirit
Old sources touch your soul.

I float through familiar landmarks,
At one with unforced flows 
A backdrop of birdsongs, the heron eyes me and nods.
Elusive markers denote unseen stones below the surface
Sources of hidden pains

Rippling murmurs announce
Momentary disruptions and potential tumbles
I bravely free-spin along the paths she’s worn
Around those hardened rough rocks. I spy
Dead limbs flood-lodged in grand trees still holding them captive.
Even so the rosy dusk sky still softly presents itself.
I feel the pull of old comforting rhythms. 

Yet there’s some new movements, new notes here and there...
She’s the same to the unaware eye, yet not quite.
Changed in subtle ways that you feel
More than see. Without moving, she’s also traveled
And no longer the same. But she never was.

Every day life has a way of changing us 
So slowly we rarely notice, 
Slow stress can strengthen or weaken resolve.
From big changes, dramatic storms, deaths, tender new life sprouts, 
Where stubborn old stumps have finally let go, allowed room for growth.

Does she sense I’ve changed? Does she care?
Is it barely noticeable? Or plainly obvious? 
I can’t see it, nor define it
But I feel it.
Same river, same me, but I’m not the same.
It’s the rich toll for engaging fully, for being open.
For Being