A dear friend sent me this poem from a blog to which she subscribes, entitled Unfolding Light. The author just happens to be a friend of her’s. Touched by its sensitivity, I wrote the author asking permission to post, to which he generously replied: You are free to share, quote, spread around and otherwise multiply any of my things. Looking at your lovely web site, and the intriguing paper rounds project, I think I might have to dig out some other poems about trees. (I walk in woods every morning, so trees are a big part of the daily reflections that I write.) I’m delighted to feel even this little connection with someone else doing something beautiful.
I too am delighted. The poem—
In buildings too long
In buildings too long
without letting herself out of windows,
without crawling around enough,
she finally escaped
into an untended lot
and began the work
of healing her bond with the earth.
She hunched
and stitched her attention,
thread by thread,
with each pebble, each blade of grass,
each little bundle of dirt and dead roots,
each tendril of weed and nameless bug,
until she had woven a web of tenderness
with a little tumult of soil
and its sky, no wider than her knee.
Despairing of the vastness of it all,
she went to bed that night weary
and a little dubious.
But she should have known:
in the night those threads out in the dark
grew, as they do,
rooting among trees,
conversing knowingly with birds,
until by dawn the whole earth
was woven again into a living whole,
eager to greet her
with the tenderest love.
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve
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Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net
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