Earthmaker,
our mother,
Covers
the ground with flowers
And
breaks open the soil to make way
For
the sprout bending its head
Dreaming
of the sun.
She
releases the seeds of Aspens
That
dream of their someday leaves,
Shivering
in the wind,
Their
undersides silvery and flashing.
Earthmaker,
our mother,
Holds
in her embrace
Her
giant Sequioa sons
As
well as the memory resting in the fossils of their prehistoric brothers.
She
holds the buried acorns that will be her
Sturdy
Oaken daughters,
As
well as the memory of those long ago first fern-like plants
About
which so little is known.
Earthmaker
knows.
Earthmaker,
our mother
Sees
every child of hers grow or not grow.
She
mourns the ones who leave her embrace
She
wraps herself in a fourfold robe of night sky, fire, water and loam.
And
nurses her sadness for the lost
In
the old soul company of the stars.
The
love of Earthmaker, our mother
Like
every mother,
Is
never less than a mountain.
The
strength of every mother’s love
Contains
the force of oceans,
The
weight of seas,
The
might of rivers in flash flood,
The
depth of springs,
The
quiet endlessness of acquifers beneath clashing tectonic plates.
This
is love that outlasts death,
This
is love with a geologic age,
This
is love that embraces every child,
Found
or lost
And
takes the lost one, and holds him up to the stars
Where
he will take his place among them.
