Seedlings
TRADE WINDS
When I enter my therapist's waiting room, I smell trade winds: warm, swirling, unanchored.
They are musty and sweet and from a knitted blanket I never knew.
They signal unchartered trips to be taken soon, and blow fears into pieces of light cloud that disintegrate when I look toward them.
When I sit in my therapist's room, they waft in at my back while I trade my old maps for new.
by Gina Green
