These feet trodden , benumbed ,
enslaved by the weight of the load
loamy earth no longer soft , supple ,
forgiving of cold tender feet
the pang of crystalline frost heaves
beneath winter moss
ache as if walking barefoot
on frigid rocky ground
each step taken in effort to draw nearer ,
apportion the distance between a place once so closely embraced,
and yet ,
now the distance appears so wide
the gravity of the metaphysical makes
me weak in the knees
I drop down and kiss the wintry ground
knowing all my cares
lie frozen far below ...
the scent of burning sage
and
sweetgrass permeates the chill ,
smoke rising like mist
into the mystic
a healing smudge carefully brushed with reverence ,
an abounding LOVE cleansing in this earth ,
the atmosphere stirs ,
I feel the muted words' silence emanating in the air
... knowing I’m not a stranger
in the hands of the maker
© Harlon Rivers ...December 9th, 2013
