The Earthen Cloak

 

 

 

Each afternoon, the storms come in,
    first the mysterious rumble from far away,
    then the closer crash,
    until each day ends in a swirl of thunder, mist and rain.
The Appalachian forest, the rain forest,
    loves this daily soaking, Her element.
Mushrooms are abundant,
    spiderwebs glisten with raindrop jewels.
I am blessed with a Quaker friend,
    guardian of the forest,
    who patiently and delightedly walks me
    uphill in the wet leaf mulch,
    among the trees,
    from grave to grave.
These are the burial sites of the self-determined few,
    the ones who find the right bush, the right tree,
    taking time to warm to the chosen spot
    years before they go.
How life continues here,
    how it goes on!
A potter's grave, trimmed with pot-lids of all colors.
A painter's grave, happy to rest in beauty for all time.
A writer's grave, poems etched in the marker stone.
I sit at the stone fire circle
    as the sunbeams shine through the leaves.
A sacred ground, a blessed place,
    made of you and me,
    made of all of us. 

 

Annelinde Metzner

August 12, 2022