purple ribbon
- anna
- Sep 8, 2023
- 2 min read
a girl with a purple ribbon in her hair
the ribbon matches the length of the hair
like old friends matching pace.
she’s alone
surrounded by waves of long grass
trees
and mountains.
she,
moments ago was frantic
hair and ribbon too long and getting in the way
trying to do what was expected but what she couldn’t do well
but now,
as she walks
the places where there was tension
melts
melts into aligning.
(only later will she find the smelly remains of animal stuck to her shoe)
something about the dark brown of the ground
and the aliveness of the green plants
she feels shouting about them to the world
saying
‘look look
here is beauty
a dandelion and the dirt’
she could analyze like a critic would a piece of art
look at the composition,
the colors
the textures,
it could mean so much more.
she feels right,
to be walking.
they set up camp
there are more of them now,
all together
excited about the beauty of the place where they are lucky enough to have a room
the smelly remains are found and the girl with the ribbon scrapes it off.
stories are told
and then the others leave
and the girl with the ribbon smiles
because she knows she is lucky
she has time to be,
time to write down how she felt about the dandelion
as they leave they tell her that she could reach enlightenment while they are gone.
they believe she could.
but the girl with the ribbon
breaks wood,
turns on elton john
and decides if enlightenment wants her
She knows just where to find her.
(and there’s a purple ribbon, like a lighthouse, showing the way)
she gathers sticks, finding the driest ones

arms full she sees a husband and a wife
they move slowly in no rush toward and end
stopping to look at each beautiful thing
the girl with the ribbon sees them and gets scared,
not knowing what they would say about her
is she not supposed to take sticks
will they mock her?
but as she passes them by the wife, with a child wrapped onto her
says while smiling
i love your ribbon
the girl says thank you in the most earnest way she can
and as she walks away
through the tall grass
with arms full of sticks
she beams
glowing like the sticks soon will
glowing at the spark of kindness from a stranger.
——
she leaves again, to find bigger sticks
as she walks she hears the flowers call to
her
because they are kindred spirits
purples flowers smiling at a purple ribbon.
she finds the logs and like an ungrateful dancer bounces on them to break them into pieces,
her trampoline.
she pauses to smell the broken branch
and is mesmerized for a moment at the pattern inside it.
once her pile feels large enough she starts to pile the logs into her arms.
feeling the laughter of ancestors at her clumsy work
but a knowing laughter, a laughter that says i’ve been there too.
as she carries the wood she feels that her ancestors know her now,
they know what it’s like to carry wood,
carry the thing that will keep you warm when the sun trades places with the moon.