“the land(here) knows you, even when you are lost”

on my desk two seedlings in a pot,
new leaves like soft hands to the sun,
a gift from a neighbour on the solstice –
a twining curcurbit that will hang with
seed-pod sponges come season’s end.

and now with the gift i remember
past years plantings
wild growing the fence closed
where the new peach now stands
long loofah like green miracles
expanding in the sun
and i know this land remembers
what i forget to know
remembers what we plant
what we sow
remembers that a garden grows good neighbours
remembers what it means to thrive.

the rains and rains
and rains this summer
have fed the roots –
lifted green tendrils from the forest floor –
surged and pulsed with warmth
of sun made green manifest
until lost in the forest
paths once clear for the walking
become dew drenched skin songs
shoulder high leaf ecstatic
with the laughter of birds
shaking the trees,
until invisible
in the deep tangle
of all that is
we are no more
no more

when drongo asks for cheese early morning
on the deck and i throw the morsels
to the new blueing sky, she catches them
impossible acrobat of the air between,
and flies off to her nest in the ragged tree
on the neighbouring hill
her black winged flight a speck
amongst the trees.
she knows this forest, despite
title and deed and stale thought
that divided the indivisible,
knows this forest can never be owned
or fenced, that we the living
bird human tree
are always and all-ways
one organism in communion
with the light that always was –
one tumble of voices
holding up the sky.

For Brendan at Earthweal’s Weekly Challenge – ben-bolcain



15 thoughts on ““the land(here) knows you, even when you are lost”

  1. This crackles and thrums with a loving earth-energy, is a web of sunshine, dew and holiness — what more Ben Bolcain than this yes, this here, this sigh in “the living bird human tree”? What’s more healing of the madness of the time than to be present, to root one’s being in this living round and bear its fruit? Amen and thanks lindi.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Thanks – South Africa has been leading the way with Omicron, glad to hear that it has peaked there and pandemic-time “normalcy” is nigh. (Yesterday it was announced there were 77,000 new cases reported in one day in Florida — probably more the next day. And we have no state government willing to fight it.)

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Ah – our good friend Omnicron. Probably because we are quite far from the epicenters and in an area with lower population density, it does not feel like the peak has passed here yet. But the good news is that it is not much more than a head cold – with a bit of fatigue thrown in. Our household is about 9 days in now and all is well. I know many many more people now who have or have had omnicron than those who have not. I dont think many people are testing anymore. Our curfews and alcohol bans have been lifted completely for the first time since the pandemic began. It feels hopeful despite it’s super transmisibility and vaccine escape. I dont think we have ever touched Florida’s numbers though – and we are in summer. Hope it is a smooth ride over there too.


  2. Holding up the sky in a tangle of voices – such a lovely image. It rained a lot here for months on end and everything has grown vigorously. Now we are having a dry heat wave. Very strange. I like the sense that life goes on regardless and that the plants and animals continue to live their lives.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks Suzanne. We do have year round rain here – so soggy summers are not that unusual. Perhaps this one a little soggier and cooler that most but the forest is most definitely singing it s praises. (Cant say our tomatoes have enjoyed the all the misty mornings and humidity – will have to remove 80%of our plants for rot again) Hope you are well.


  3. I love this, Lindi: your message comes through so strongly:

    ‘she knows this forest, despite
    title and deed and stale thought
    that divided the indivisible,’

    It’s a theme I think about a lot, our self-inflicted, self-destructive separation from nature.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks Ingrid. I am reading Braiding Sweetgrass at the moment. Absolutely love the chapter on the language of animacy and how our even our grammar shapes our seperateness in the world.

      Liked by 1 person

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