A few days ago, I was walking into a doctor’s appointment when my phone buzzed.
It was my daughter, Kendall. She’s in her first semester at FSU (Go Noles!) and she wanted to share something she workshopped in class.
I’ll admit it, I found myself wiping away tears in the hallway. Not because it was my daughter who wrote it, although I’m certainly a proud dad. But because every now and then someone puts words to something you’ve carried in your heart for a long time, and that’s exactly what she did.
As parents, we spend years hoping we’ve passed along something worthwhile. Kindness. Curiosity. A love of people and places. The ability to notice things others walk past.
Reading her poem, I realized something.
Maybe she was paying attention all along.
She gave me permission to share it, and I’m grateful she did. I hope it resonates with you the way it did with me.
Springs on the Suwannee
by Kendall Sweat
Somewhere
I sit among the bald cypresses and swamp gums
with my feet dipped in the cold, clear water,
anchoring me to the moment,
allowing me to stretch my own roots into the soil.
The water bugs dance past me
gliding like figure skaters across the surface,
whispering to me stay afloat
and trust the unseen.
The sun places a blanket over my soul,
encouraging me to curl up
among the bald cypresses and swamp gums
and let my body rest.
I melt into the land that I lie on:
my limbs become the trees,
my blood transforms to water,
my soul joins the dancing water bugs.
I am distant from civilization,
distant from the screaming cars
and the imposing skyscrapers;
the gray, dead concrete.
Somewhere
I sit among the bald cypresses and swamp gums
and their roots reach out to mine,
announcing where I belong.