I took myself for a walk on Thanksgiving afternoon, headed to a local park where I often walk…rivers over-flowing, park closed due to high water, turning toward a new path…across the bridge, through the tree farm and by the slaughter house turned pub, walking beside plowed land, an old railroad grade, ferns reclaiming bridges…wrapped in the arms of cottonwood and alder, tears come down…grief returns to the rushing waters of the river of life and I walk forward empty and full, grief and praise quicken in my heart. Old tales, ours and others wrap themselves around me and I turn back. Walking back over the bridge, a gravel island peopled with cottonwood catches the glow of a setting sun, radiant this ally shines, forever holding me in her sticky, balsamic life generative arms…a tumble tree, when ripped from rivers earthen bank she goes with the flow until such time as her broken body touches down and reroots at every joint, how long and deeply weve known one another…and I thought I was going out for a visit with linden!
Posted on: Mon, 01 Dec 2014 04:24:35 +0000
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