The trees breathe out so that we may breathe in. We breathe out so that the flowers, grasses & trees may breathe in. And so it goes. And thus it has always been
The sun heaved past the horizon setting the treetops on fire Sunlight slowly moved toward the forest floor dispelling the shadows of the night. © Composting Words
In the half awake moments before full consciousness I believed it was July; warm and sunny. I smiled My eyes opened to a gray and rainy morning. Not summer at all. October. And cold. September (and August) already gone. I could feel my heart yearning to go back. I surprised myself with this holding on.…
Look closer still;
the light’s not right
and gives clue to
the photo’s lie.
If my Abenaki grandmother did not have to live white, I might have learned the uses for heal-all, burdock and spirea. How to read the meaning in a wolf call. I might have learned to weave baskets of sweetgrass, the best time to dig the root of the blackberry, the names of the healing plants…
The clouds thicken, the flecks of weak sunlight disappear; darkening and dropping ‘til a soft sprinkle of rain begins. The wind and waves slowly and steadily gather strength. Blow, splash. Blow, splash. White caps parade across the bay as the islands play hide and seek in the fog, then dissolve into gray. Windows rattle. Tall…
Gifts from the Sea Offerings to the Great Spirit. The heart knows.