I shelter with trees
below cold wet ground,
what’s left above
leafless, without color.
Burrowing in soft earth,
I find roots of peace
woven to the hidden stone,
birthplace of beauty.
There She holds me,
child in Her lap,
cradled once again
in Her undying Eden.
photo by Louis MacKenzie
Reading of “The Hidden Stone” with music by Taj Mahal.
Ah,yes….her undying Eden..
I picture roots of trees burrowing down in pliant soil to touch the hard rock of our Mother Earth and bring up minerals to grow the trees and in Spring color their leaves with brilliant hues come Fall.
Nice, Don. “I find roots of peace…”
This sight of heavenly sunlit clouds abiding high above, I thrill to see, sense and embrace anew, while peacefully rooting my soul-woven birthplace of ongoing beauty in Mother Earth’s undying Eden. There, a sublimely enfolding cradle of shelter holds us dear.
The promise of change enfolded in ways not yet birthed but knowing a lullaby is but a short way from grounded transmutation.
Don, I am glad you are finding solace. Be careful of the legal advisers in the burrows of the burrows of the weasels.
Don — I’m happy to report that this legal advisor of yours is now in sunny, warm SW Florida (near the Gulf of America). Haven’t seen one weasel here yet.
Don, I love the phrase, “roots of peace, woven to the hidden stone, birthplace of beauty”.
I feel my heart sinking into deep rest, reading these words. Thank you.