land-loved
It could be, it just
could be
that the land will love us back.
On those days
when you remind the class,
in a meditation, or a treatment swap,
to include the green of the middle valley;
to drink in the support
of leaves bristling and fluttering in the sunlight,
and the deep, rock-clinging roots;
maybe the ash-trees, the birches, the thyme
and the waterfall
are whispering of you too;
reminding each other of the dear exhalation of breath,
your gift to them;
the way you come striding up the valley with the other boys,
or take a slow lead, quiet steps,
with a rag-bag group, students, teachers.
Maybe they tell each other that tale again,
how they try to lure you,
each crag beckoning to the next,
and the cloud-people scudding in the sky above.
Like the swallows and the cuckoos,
you come and go,
loving this land, as this land loves you.
Maybe, it might be like that;
it could be, it just
could be.
I wrote this poem after our exploration of the land near to Inverie, our walk together as a group, followed by bringing this experience into our shiatsu practice.
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