Some things can’t be denied. Won’t be for long. They have the capacity to wait for us to arrive to the space where they’ve been all along.
When still water rises to meet me
And the sun lays its hands on my back,
It’s easy to dismiss the gentle sounds of homecoming.
But when rising sap reaches out to gently touch my face,
While the ground hums a welcoming sigh underneath my feet,
And the clay of a place begins to gently rebind me to the original heart,
It’s hard to deny how another weaver brought me back.
When the songs of the sons that came before
rearrange the drumbeat of my heart,
And brothers from another mother dance around me with the wind
This weaver becomes woven into the depths of creation anew.
And is home.