I ran to the wood
To hide in the willow,
Seeking solace
In a cascade of branches;
A soft shelter from storm.

A wispy leaf
Brushes my cheek,
As a single tear slides down
To be buried in the ground,
And I hear a whispered beat.
“Gentle, humble, kind – hey!
Gentle, humble, mind – way.”

I kneel to pat the earth,
To dig my fingers in the dirt —
And to say thank you.
I know my weeping is safe
With thee, sacred tree.


© January 24, 2017
Tryon, NC