back in Vermont for the last handful of August

queen of the field once again, I return triumphant.
I want to live
in the place where leaves come from,
where the raspberries
are born on the bush,
the space between 
impossibility and abundance.
blueberry stained dress from lying in the sun, 
not a care in the world:
I eat a plum by the fire pond
in six bites.
clung to by grass and no one else,
being somewhat let go has not left me feeling freedom-
my independence has come
from being very fiercely loved,
if only by myself and the clouds.

and, oh, there are so many clouds.