Go barefoot in the forest and you can hear your soul better When sticks and stones scratch heels and bones So now as I walk through the mountains The shadows of our fathers and their fathers too Walk beside me to whisper parables in my ear Cold dry tales of the call of the whippoorwill chanting from his lofted perch.
I can feel the heaving power of the riverwater Full and thick, warm and pillowy on my hands When I dive deep I feel the stones’ voices reverberate in the sounding caves of my lungs, their words a reminder of my few years that dwindle to nothing beside ancient shale.
The tale of the Delaware is recorded in the bands and bark of Maple and Sycamore and secretly scrawled into the earth. A hand on your trunk and one in the cool soil, I close my eyes to see that story of those who loved your leaves and stones with all they knew
Great Spirit teach me as you have taught others before me, teach the ways of the willow and crow the wisdom of our mother earth who knows truth as none of her children may know.
