across the water, the moss drips

Ferried across
a water passage,
in a sea of change.
Last year we drove here the long way,
exploring and finding it on accident.
This year I returned with a purpose.

The shop was as cozy as I remembered,
warm and welcoming,
full of ladies who create with their hands
and talk and laugh and pamper the shop dog.
If I squint I can pretend it is a century ago,
and we have gathered at this barn to knit.
But I don’t know how to knit.
So why am I at a yarn shop–again?

This time, car loaded with friends who must see this shop,
I hoped my memory hadn’t over-shined this place,
but here it was still:
Baskets full of dark dark green mohair, loose through my fingers;
nearby, the northwest jungle of the Hoh rainforest.
There, the moss drapes from the trees like great green fingers.
A collection had formed in my mind: Moss.
Now I knew where to source my moss.