Holy Roots

For dVerse “Holy Places” prompt and for Real Toads #30 in 30, day three. I have done this now for three days.  Five is usually my limit.

Holy Roots
My roots burrow deep into
the red stony iron rich soil
from which my parents coaxed almost
year round vegetables and tomatoes so
full of acid a slice on your plate would
jump up and slap your face before
you could cut it with a fork.

My roots burrow through golden sand
and sensuously lap at salt water –
my roots drift through foreign soils
and drink the icy torrents or
slow moving warm rivers or
sky blue lakes or water colored
a rich cedar red from the tannins
in the earth or wander lazily
through meadows and forests.

My roots sleep beneath the low ground cover
and silently sip from streams and dew
and stay buried beneath years of pine needles
and rotted foliage and rocks
holding trees straight and tall or
sometimes slumped or even supine.
Small things dig beneath my roots for food
and worms and bugs live their tiny lives
and creatures sleep among the roots
and build their daily homes.

My roots spread far and wide on
This earth – they have nurtured
loved grew danced buried –
They have listened to the steady
vibrations of the earth, sung
along with the rain, stretched beneath
the sun, wandered beside paths
made by animals and humans.
My roots have prayed
at all of these holy places.
Wherever my roots touch is a holy place.
I carry my holiness within.
I am my holy place.
I am my cathedral.

 

roots – fair use

 

 

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