Gathering of stories
harvest of history
my voice speaks this time.
In honor of those
who have become before.
I grasp the dirt in my hands.
Run my fingers over the rough bark.
I watching the river flowing
close my eyes graced by the sunshine.
Such a rich tapestry
where nature’s masterpiece
meets with humanity’s
interwoven pieces
complex yet whole.
As life cycles so do the trees.
Roots entangled in the soil
let them carry on
telling the story.
My hands the tool.
My heart the vessel.
Continue on.
-k. thompson
Read more in the Black Swamp Newsletter.
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