…a wrinkled shirt, tucked beneath the layers of winter weather sweaters in the bottom drawer of my hand-me-down dresser, removed and worn on those days that I choose to be free.
… a 72 Pontiac Station Wagon, color of brown, reflecting in the sunsets of my past and driving towards those sunrises of my future.
…a maple tree in the Green Mountain forest
… the dried sand in the Sonaran desert.
… the limber branch on the birch pines high atop the Sierra mountain range
… and a token on the seat of a subway train on Chicago’s west side.
… a rock in the middle of the Willoughby listening to the sound the river makes.
…the eyes of the coyote chasing wild rabbits in the desert at night.
I am also…
…the feel of the wind on my back high atop the mountain
…and the voice of the homeless asking for change on the city streets.
I am all of these
yet none of these
all at the same time.