Monday morning

I walk the land.
and rest my arms around the grandmother tree
in her embrace
my breath deepens,
my body remembers
a place of calm.

I climb the hill above her,
to the crest of the ridge,
and follow its ancient line.

Something begins to stir —
a remembering.
A sense of deep time moving through me
where my ancestors feel close,
and unnamed beings
linger at the edge of my perception.

A quiet, widening love
for this place -
for sandstone ridges and rocks,
for caves and gentle curves,
for shadowed crevices
that have offered shelter,
ceremony,
belonging.

Love for the purity of this land -
untouched by conquest,
claimed, or controlled,
but held on its own,
protected…

This is a place of deep magic.
Of simple beauty.
A place where I can lean into
all that is -
in this world,
and beyond it.