Sometimes you’re pulled
by the mystery so much
it will not let you rest upon the earth,

and you think you’re holding
a thread of truth
like a light you thought you had lost.

But it is here –
in the trees that carry the echo of your being,
in your backyard, in your front yard,
in the soil of your kitchen plant,
in the mud pressed to your doormat,
you don’t have to travel far.

Let the earth hold you,
cradle you,
so you may remember
your place in the world.

Then even sorrow will smile at you
like an old friend who stayed through the night,
like leaves spinning their perfect autumn dance,
like morning light spilling across the floor –

and what has been waiting
will be welcomed by you,
and you by everything.

 like the river remembering its way home,
 like the roots of your own being
 curling deep into the soil,
 like a familiar rhythm
 in the marrow of your bones.