Gathering is Finding

When I take for the woods, I’m always after something. Most of the time, I don’t know what it is or if I should be looking up, down, out, or in. She offers up Her face, so that I may rest my gaze. Either to absorb the flesh of her intimate creation wholly, fleeing myself in her embrace or alternatively, as a mere backdrop offering neutrality to the wild scenery playing out within my mind. When it‘s something physical I wish to take, I’m learning to ask permission. I shake momma spruce’s hand, pausing to interlock fingers, from the bottom of her mature evergreen to the tip of her electric bud. To pluck in gentle gratitude, physically transcends me. The delicate, soft tips, give themselves to me, before I even ask. My heavy, ungrateful hand is met with a force of equal surprise: resistance. Don’t pull. Here, I found myself begging: “Mother, I love you. I love you and I want to protect you. You’ve given me everything and you make me whole. I always come to you asking or wanting something, and you give it to me. Everytime. And more. So much more. Please, how can I show you how much I care?” I emerged from the woods to learn of Trump’s decision to pull out of the Paris Agreement. I buried my hands and heart in Her tender, baby buds and promised Her I’d try. I’d try to find the words that make me feel equally akin to these spruce shoots: daughters, sisters of Her divine creation: living and breathing as one

No Comments

Post a Comment