I dig deep into the river mud,
Where roots weave their tapestry,
Dead leaves bind the earth we tread,
And shoots pierce and climb.
Where worm galleries
Thread the dark loam,
Pitter-pattered with mouse paws.
Tunnelled arteries lead to the core,
Pulsing with nesting fox hearts.
I dig with reverent hands,
Through the tangled, matted mesh of life,
Finding the source of all things.
‘Finding the source of all things’… like that idea. If only it was so simple. Lovely verse and photo.
Finding it isn’t necessarily the problem. It’s knowing what to do with it!
I love how visual and reverent this is. ” tangled, matted mesh of life”–oh, yes.
Thank you. It is wonderful what grows in places, even in city centres, if they are left undisturbed. I have the feeling there is a common root to all living things that we constantly mess up.
Reblogged this on MARSocial Author Business Enhancement Poet's Post.
Thanks for reblogging, Coleman 🙂
Reblogged this on Captain´s Log.
Thanks for the reblog, Andrea 🙂