On being nourished and fed...
A love letter to Edna, (Ani, and other immortal souls,)
I am on the verge of tears, the field covered in wildflowers, vibrating chirps in rustling leaves. Your souls laid down this land, as did those of Native Americans before you. What a gift for me now! Space, to clear, space to connect, reflect. I well up again and again thinking of you.
The blueberries taste fuller, the hummus as I have never tasted before! I will drink a toast to you tonight!
If I do nothing but sit here for the next three days, claim this space, this time, and breathe your air than I have done all right.
In-between the sit, this luxury, I vow to bring the children here. (Not my literal children, but those through metaphor, through the mold of my grandfather, those not free, not privileged, not child free.) For every body deserves the chance to sit, to look, to see, to hear beauty and feel a part of that beauty.