threetreethree

you are 600 years old.  you soar from root to sky wrapped in the circle of your life. layer upon layer, ring upon ring–all that living. a story written in an indecipherable language.  a complete history. witness.

home.

i am a spider maimed to four awkward legs swinging from a nylon web ascending.  the further i get from the ground, the less gravity exists.  i don’t even know where i am going.  i have no idea that home lies ahead.  that home is in the sky.  that home is all red wood and danger. that home is near extinction.  i have no idea.

there are no limbs.  near my small body, your body is miles long.  i sail, upward, perhaps a mile, perhaps ten and stop.  suspend.  allow my head to fall, allow my back to arch, an inversion to the ground’s horizontal line.  my hands stretch, fingers extend, they become the roots that nourish. the roots that release.  bones stretched in the wrong direction can only let go, can only abandon earthly restrictions–the soul sees the opportunity and seizes the moment to sprint. home.  my center, free.

home.

in the threshold between the universe and the earth i am home.

in the shadow of an ancient.  wise watcher.  i am home.  in the place where there is an absence of life. an arrested breath.  home.