Cascade Head Serenade

How many times have I leaned into Life’s challenges? How
exhilarating and exhausting is it to put one foot in front of the other with a
vision calling me forward? A place I have never visited, a relationship I have
yet to build, a world still incubating.

Mist folded upon itself and lifted away from the land,
showing the way forward. One step, then another. Sometimes it is good to only
see what is right in front of you. My body was tired and wet, I needed assurance
that I was on the path and nothing more.
Doubt and grief weighted each step, relationships with
family and friends that had died, my place and work in a world so burdened with
challenge and degradation dogged my progress. It is heavy work, mourning what
we have destroyed and inherited.
I stripped layers off as I climbed, working through the
outer shells until I stood atop the head in shirt sleeves in the chill autumn
afternoon. Sometimes the only way forward it to peel yourself bare in the
presence of something bigger, something beautiful.

What do I do with all this grief? Where do I bury the bones
of what I have loved and watched pass away?
Here. Leave it here. I am big enough to hold you.
Mist curled, trees bowed, I cried.
We speak with each other, the trees, the seas, the skies. It
is advance and retreat, rise and fall, cradle and rock.
When it is time to return to the river, to give thanks to
the life she brings, I sing her songs and hold my friend’s hand. We watch the
sun begin its bedtime routine and sit in wonder-filled silence. She listens,
lapping at our feet and we return full.
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