I Used to Be

What do you do? The waiter asks.
I tell him where I work, but that’s not the whole story.
I am a writer, I could say. 
An unlikely hiker, also true.
A perpetual ponderer, a chocolate fancier,
a tea, wine and coffee drinker, 
a deep sleeper, a resonant snorer, an early riser, 
star gazer, rain worshipper, mountain dweller, desert pilgrim, 
wildflower seeker, mushroom stalker, 
bad driver, decent cooker, hopeless gardener,
devout reader, relentless inquirer, pathetic recollector, 
dedicated mother, former wife, forever friend, 
crazy dancer, frequent cryer, more frequent laugher,
terrible trail guide, happy camper, lumbering backpacker, 
sincere listener, committed lover, steady presence,
enthusiastic helper, lazy cleaner, 
aspiring forager, silent sitter, faithful bower,
wholehearted lover of life
who used to be smaller somehow
until life asked more of me, 
asked me to unfurl every leaf and open every blossom.

This, life told me, will feed you and others,
offer more sheltering shade when the sun gets too hot
scent the harsh winds with sweet fragrant beauty
remind you to trust when the rains don’t come.

This, just this, is what life asks of us all.
That after each winter, no matter how cold and harsh,
no matter how great the loss,
we let what was taken go and join the other lost things
so that when spring arrives, 
we can answer the call of renewal.