She holds us
in her arms,
charms us
with star sparkle
eyes,
lilac
breath,
song of rippling water
over stone.
She tells us our story,
from deep
in the loam of her heart,
fed by
rains and heat,
warmth, cold,
into the family
of breezes, currents, creatures—
those like us
and not.
Movement in spurts,
and slow,
creeping, climbing, sliding,
changing skins and gestures,
while we grow
along with our
earth siblings, cousins,
at pause and in dance,
flowing
in mutual vibration.
We play, shift our balance,
lose our grasp of the limb,
leap out
from our source
to find the rest
of the forest.
We regain our purchase,
find a companion,
laugh.
Fumbling, with stumbles,
growth rings, peeling bark.
Sifting tides
reveal
fresh treasures
along the edges.
Stop.
See what is around you,
what she holds along with you.
The soft moss, the mountain crag,
the courting bird.
The places dried with ash,
streams blocked by toxins,
the parched land,
the hungry child,
the thirsty soul.
Clear the trash,
sustain the ocean depths,
feed the child,
calm the fellow soul.
The earth’s arms are wide,
and it is yours to share
inside more love
somehow somewhere.
Raise your voice, shout, cry,
sway and shimmy,
wiggle to her rhythms,
know your joy in her.
Show your love
of what begat,
bore and nurtured you,
will take you home.
Touch her scars gently,
wash away her tears.
Hear her heartache,
as she bears yours.
You are not separate—
cannot be—
you are woven together.
As she goes, so do you,
if only in
different
spirals.
Cherish
your time together,
you and your
good earth.
Carol is retired from library work in four states, with ties to several religious organizations. She does pet sitting and dabbles in a range of things from Sanskrit to dance. She enjoys exploring connections with people and non-human animals.
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