I thread through bright green fiddle heads as I walk,
knowing they’re unfurling fingers of water.
Each Redwood I lean into, breathe against, exchange gratitudes with,
is a river made still.
More than breath,
water makes us who we are,
wending our bodies through life in a receiving way,
reminding us how to fail at being rigid every day.
Water is our true genius.
When I can feel the softness of you,
through your gentle hands,
water is whispering ancient stories in that touch,
of rolling over rocks,
down throats,
frozen for eons then cascading into fjords,
sailing as mist or falling as life giving rain endlessly over our world.
Water is the way blessings come into being here.
