Innocence moves
even when sitting
like a little one
on a park bench, built for a mom or a dad
or the older ones
with their white hair
and funny ways
Innocence moves
even on a drafty night
when the wind is blowing
through the rifts
and dreams of sand dunes
drift, grain by grain
for who would know?
Innocence moves
in broad daylight
when the waters are flowing
along the banks
like a sunning snake
shifting, bend by bend
patiently savoring the moments so slow
Post Script
Innocence here is partly the innocence of a child: not yet understanding the desire to belong, or the pain of not belonging, until those things are encountered directly. A child may sit still because the world has asked it, without fully knowing why, what the moment means, or what may happen next. Children play along with the world in ways adults often fail to notice.
But innocence also belongs to Nature, and Nature includes us. Everything moves continuously, even when it appears to be resting. Bodies age, rivers alter their courses, dunes shift grain by grain, and familiar places become unfamiliar. None of this happens in order to harm or help us. The universe moves innocently.
That innocence does not prevent heartbreak. We may return to a place and discover that it was never quite as we remembered it, or that it has become better or worse without us. Memory preserves one landscape while time quietly makes another.
Sometimes change is easier to accept when we can see it happening. A visible current gives us time to move with it. Change then seems less like an intrusion or a hidden force and more like participation in the ordinary motion of things.
The question “for who would know?” leaves room for what cannot be seen from outside. A quiet child may contain curiosity, confusion, loneliness, or an entire unfolding world. Slow motion asks us to notice the innocent movement concealed within stillness.
The image was taken at Reverie, Tennessee, beside an old course of the Mississippi River. A river may appear fixed on a map, yet over time it shifts banks, borders, and even the meaning of place.
Primitive Joe 
