This morning the wind carries
a music older than memory,
older than the borders drawn
to divide what was once
simply Earth, breathing;
I walk the garden in silence,
feet on too-dry soil, and I pay tribute
to the ones who have always known
how to listen—to rain as ally,
to stones as elder relations,
to fire as prayer;
They did not name the land
as possession, but also kin;
their wise ones knew the pulse
beneath us is shared;
And I wonder—how do I walk now,
in this fragile lineage of forgetting,
to begin again, to remember?
Maybe it starts by slowing down—
that quality I thought never to embody—
the patience cultivated over the years
from birdsong, the elk’s whistle, the hawk’s
keeeee! Even the dog’s howl;
And in these, I can better attune
to the roots under my feet, perceive their inter-
connection, mycelia, the gardens I have planted
and the pigs have tossed - all has purpose,
if I am to better awaken as the earth steward
I was born to be.
New life ~ bj 2017
💕
Mahalo! 💕
It’s always been a difficult concept for me, “owning” land. (K)
Now here’s the thing, both Chris and I feel the same way! And yet we have been stewards of 65 acres in Maine, 14 acres in New Mexico, 2 1/2 acres, a half acre, and a half acre for the three properties we have ‘owned’ in Hawaii. So we see ourselves as stewards, and we take really good care of property we have the grace to call our own. Since the system exists, that is what we do, give it good residents and good caretakers while we live there. I get it! 😘
That’s the only way you can do it in this capitalist world.