this morning I collected flowers and drove by myself to the beach, a sacred long spit on the edge of the sea.
I felt called to make an offering to the land, for the original beings who live on this land, and for the journey my ancestors came to arrive me here.
to the Nootka roses who are just beginning to bloom, to the hummingbirds who fly overhead.
to the crow in the branch above me, to the stones and the shells, to the thorns and driftwood, to the nettles who grow at the entrance of the path.
I collected ocean water to paint with in my journal. I painted big swipes of color onto my paper. I placed my hands on the sand, dug my toes into its warmth.
the sun warming my face, a song spilling from my lips.
a return, a return. to myself, to the earth as home. to a calling to honor, to connect, to be with the earth, to listen in these deep ways. to soften, to be.
gratitude
