Before there were words,
Before trees & flowers & birds
And under morning’s first holy light,
I played below juniper trees
In dry brown dust where no rain fell.
Then scrambled out
To where my mother bent, planting lupins
In the fine damp loam
A rake’s length away:
Lupin leaves studded with rain beads
At their hearts.
I had no words, no names
For the soft rosettes of leaves
Or the junipers’ incense:
Just the wonder of diamonds on greenness,
With trees’ fronds brushing my face—
The heaven of their scent floating round me.
We have no memory
Until we have vocabulary.
And yet, a mystery:
I do remember.
© Words, Lizzie Ballagher. Images: with thanks to Pinterest.