The Earth, She Breathes…
Liquid gold ignites the tips
of the needles on the pine.
Birdsong trickles through the air,
a myriad of voices declaring the world divine.
Beneath the solitary sentry
perched upon the hill
the darkness climbs up the slope,
getting ever closer still
to the place where shadows rope
along the mighty trunks,
ascending to the sky,
and the light of day surrenders
to the night,
a little more, by and by….
And a memory bubbles forth
of another day and time,
distant images of childhood
flickering through my mind,
as my vision lingers,
on that glowing pine.
There was a birthday
when I did not have a party.
But my parents took me to the fields
and we picnicked among the barley.
I wore a crown of Queen Anne’s Lace
and wove a garland out of clover,
and upon my caramel cake,
they placed a wildflower.
My candle was the molten tree,
perched across the valley,
atop a row of sentries,
lined up as if in a galley,
marching across the fields,
to guard the wheat below
where the robins liked to dally.
Did they know?
My parents?
That they had given me that day
the power to see a vision in a tree,
a poem in the air
redolent with the scent of hay
and of dirt, seeded with promise?
And, above me now,
the palm fronds drip
shadows towards the earth.
And the sky melts into a puddle
a bit darker around its girth.
And the earth,
she breathes,
and draws another breath.
Overhead, the giant Birds of Paradise
saw through the rising moon
and the parrots squawk and squeal
as they fly into the bloom
of an indigo sunset.
And I feel the earth sigh
as she welcomes her creatures
to her bosom and to her shores,
and whispers a bit of wisdom
and weaves a little lore.
And again, I do recall
the touch of the glowing hay
upon which dreams were born
that long ago day
when my father did not place
a candle upon that wild cake,
that day we went into the fields
that skirted around the lake.
And with that action,
I was warned.
I knew the world in which I walked,
might be different from the norm.
And the earth,
she breathes,
and she draws another breath,
and I inhale the liquid gold
that carries us from birth to death.
If you enjoyed this poem, you might also enjoy Voices https://medium.com/@erikaburkhalter/voices-34fd4de2444a
and Hot Flashes and the Quantum Divide…Chronicles of a Yogini https://medium.com/@erikaburkhalter/hot-flashes-and-the-quantum-divide-chronicles-of-a-yogini-2ccb46947389
