Treasure is a picnic
in a clearing amidst redwoods,
a black and white blanket to lie on,
a sky only blue.
It’s hours to wander.
It’s the braid of conversation
between friends and the moment.
Treasure is never what we thought it was.
Once we thought we were supposed
to live perfect, unfailing lives.
Now we know treasure can look like scars.
Can emerge
from the scent of burnt dreams.
“You can spell kayak forward or backward and it’s the same word,” Anna says. “Like redder.”
“And Anna,” Dad says. “Hurry up now or we’ll be late.”
Even though she is looking away, Anna notices that her father is restless. She can feel it in the air, in the grass, in the scar on her knee, in the mole on her neck, and in every hair on her head. Anna knows that her dad gets restless when he is not looking forward to something.
“There must be something in the air, because my hair is full of static,” Anna says, gazing up at the sky. “The clouds are in a hurry, just like you. When I close my eyes, I can see whatever I want.”
“Hurry up, Anna,” her father says, at that moment they hear the church bells chime from across the fjord.
Joy of Reading 