Every Wednesday

Every Wednesday I will post something about grief. Sometimes it will be a reflection on an aspect of grief’s landscape. Now and then I will share from my own journey of grief, because in the sharing of our stories we find strength and build a community of people that support one another.

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Thursday, July 9, 2015

Dark Voice of the Mountain

I hear the dark voice of the mountain
coming over the meadows at dawn,
calling for the lonely,
the dispirited, the dead.
I will go there.

The mountain sings in the mist
that rises from her heart,
ancient tears of sorrow and love,
rivers that flow down her face.
I will sit with her there.

In the cool of the afternoon,
I walk through pine forests,
meditate on her shadow words.
The caress of the cool breeze
calms my fevers there.

Resting my head on the warm stone
of her hip, I breathe the aroma
of dark earth and green meadow.
Unable to sleep, I watch the stars
burn with longing there.

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