A dreamer within a dream,
I bow to Mother Earth again and again,
and the trees drop down word-blessings
on my page.
The Ancient Ones are singing in the mist
along the riverbank.
and are as swiftly gone.
I heard an eagle calling this morning.
I was in First Nations country,
homeland of my ideology.
The ancient forest is the topography
of my heart's home, the wild waves,
the ocean's roar,
the resting place of my soul.
I come from
a long-ago valley of apple blossoms,
from willow-weep and lilac,
sweet pea and mimosa,
lake-scent and whisperings
engraved on my soul,
all of it inking the nib of my pen
since I was a child
with the single directive:
for Ella's fantastic prompt at Real Toads: to write a Kumulipo, a Hawaiian prayer chant that describes the creation of the world, as it applies to where our creativity comes from. We were to include our birthplace in the poem. Photos by my daughter, Lisa Melanie.