Breaking Open

There

were

green

sheets

of rain

::

Wind

tearing

the

living

trees

::

May’s heart

breaking

open

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About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, Small Stones, The River. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Breaking Open

  1. heart-wrenching but so true
    beautiful picture
    and your words sum up the unstoppable forces of nature

  2. That is really elegant! Nicely done. 🙂

  3. wrensong says:

    Thanks, Terri. I’ve been more out in the garden than writing about it. Words have been absent for weeks.

  4. tmhHoover says:

    Was just thinking of you yesterday. I love this poem.

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