What is there when you pay attention?
Not to the big
But to the small
The underfoot
The quiet
What would it be like to sing to this?
Sing to the Earth?
Really sing to it
Face kissing the grass and the mud
Sing just for the joy of the relationship
Can we quieten enough to hear the song that responds?
Can we take ourselves away from the Human Made?
Back to where we belong
This Song of the Land
Fallen leaves want to sing secrets into us
Sing like a sweet lullaby into our gentle ears
Does it matter which ear we listen with?
What of the sharp touch of the thorn?
Could it be embraced as a lovers caress?
And the Shoemaker Elf that lives in the Oak Tree
Hidden from our view
Busy nonetheless
All this that exists behind our watching
How does it feel to not have our gaze cared for?
“We have stories for you. If you will still enough to listen” the Winds call
It’s amazing we can miss them at all
So loud do they blast about us
When we stop
Stop to receive
Our breath only has to meet theirs in the merest show of “Tell Me”
Then the clever clarity of a distant bell can strike through
Then the tales of Northern Lands find us
A small girl
Taking the even smaller fishing boat
Out on her own for the first time
The Winds carry of this to our waiting bodies
Her fear of Wood and Water
Meets ours of the Horse we so desperately want to follow
And suddenly we know
Just as the Birds know
The Birds have always known
We are one big story
Perfectly aligned
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