When I was a girl,
I climbed into the branches of an oak tree
and sat barefoot, legs swinging.
I was fearless and open hearted.
My spirit sang like a bird.
And so, without thinking,
I grew wings and lifted off —
higher and higher above the treetops
until the whole world spread itself below me
like a brightly-coloured patchwork quilt.
I circled over the woods
and then swooped toward my parent’s house.
I could see my mother far below
while my father mowed the lawn.
They were tiny and perfect,
like dolls in a playhouse.
Now I am older,
and though I treasure the memory of those youthful flights,
it is the underland that calls to me.
In sleep I drop into the ground below
and pull the soil over me like a warm blanket.
Instead of a bird, I am a hare,
nestled in my warm burrow,
safe among the roots of the oak.
My spirit is soothed by the music of the mycelium
and my dreams are timeless and infinite.
Image: Lucy Almey Bird. You can find more of her wonderful drawings here.
May these words bring truth
and healing through open hands and hearts.
And then, let it flow back into our Mother Earth
for the love of all her beings.