Wednesday, October 18th, 2006

Submitted by Sheridan Bushnell

The mountains know our history.
They hold the hardness of our struggle,
Releasing but a few grains
To the soft earth below.

Trees speak the language of our hearts.
Softly pulsating the life blood,
Of our lung’s longing, they wait,
Watching the river’s flow,

Over and through
The rocky remnants of our resistance,
Waiting the awakening,

As the young mother watches,
Her infant stir in its crib,
Its newness to the world,
Opening wide the door to her heart.

Knowing,
In the adolescence
Of our souls,
We must so thoroughly reject
That which has fed us for so long.

Trusting,
We shall return
When the ego is strong enough
To realize,
The pain of the separation
Was but a mirage of the mind.

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