The Rooted Ones

Grandmother Birch

I face her

And touch her gently wrinkled skin.

She holds a space for me

Calling me in

To hear her silence.

She reminds me that I held him here once,

That I called him to know himself better,

And promised to love him.

How could I know?

I stand in her embrace

And mourn open tears.

My grief flows through her roots

Into the vast waiting Earth below.

Steady and secure, she holds center,

Bearing that which was,

Until I need it again.

In time I will be new,

Made whole,

Marked with her blessing,

More lasting than scars,

But until then she holds the wounded part of me

Safely in her timeless womb.

Grandfather Oak

I lean against his roughness,

And feel his strength at my back,

Tall and broad,

Reaching ever out,

Branching, dividing, unfolding,

Always in new directions,

Mapping unnumbered possibilities,

And offering them all.

I stay on this threshold,

And face an unwritten future.

It is, I know, a territory not so unexplored.

Others have walked the paths I face,

And I will find my fellow travelers,

But from here it looks like wilderness.

His hoary beard of bark

Will not let me be comforted.

Instead, he pushes,

Moving me forward.

My feet tread the crunchy remains of acorns,

Seeds spilled in reckless abandon,

Looking for all that may be,

Not counted,

Or mourned,

Just part of the journey.

“Don’t look down,” he warns,

“The future is up and out.”

The Stream

I stand on the brink and watch the flowing

Clear and cold,

Pure and shocking,

Marking the end and the beginning,

Giving me a chance to go beyond,

To be alive and present,

To carve out my own bed,

Drinking deeply from the same hidden springs as those before me.

It calls me to remain rooted

Without becoming static.

That’s the deal.

I can come back to visit the ancestors,

To lean on them

And feel their power,

But I can’t stay.

I too must flow into the future,

Looking for pools of my own,

In which to pause

On my journey to the sea.

I listen for a moment,

And look at the path before me,

Borders afford some of the best views,

Then step, as I must, over the edge,

And trust.