Slice of moon,
bare branch
stark against the sky,
scent of new grass
mingled with
the earth stirring to life,
feeling
the pulse of Gaia
throbbing
deep underneath
my feet,
rising up
my body
as if it were
a young sapling,
I want to
grow my hair
wild and long,
run deep into
the oldest forest
I can find,
make a dwelling there
out of branches, leaves
and the shed skin
of a deer
who no longer wants it,
and spend my days
communing with
the trees.
Sounds delightful, Shery. Maybe you SHOULD grow your hair wild and long at least.
ReplyDeleteOh, I see you clearly in every line of this, Sherry! A poem straight from your soul to the earth...:)
ReplyDeleteI am growing it, Mary, after lopping it off last year. I would love it to grow as long as the hair in the image - if only I can live long enough, hee hee!
ReplyDeleteAm hoping this works this time. Third time is a charm, right. You wild woman knows that and you describe her inner workings well. Have always wanted the long hair, but not the trouble of caring for it. Mine would tangle in branches and hold me captive forever,
ReplyDeleteElizabeth