It feels as if

The first years of my life was when I was being grown,

by others,

First in the womb,

Then home,

School,

Guides,

Friends,

World.

 

Then it seems I spent 20 years trying to grow myself,

to find my way,

start the path,

which feels like my own.

To hear my voice,

feel at home in my own skin.

 

This first twenty were the roots;

education,

work,

money,

home,

surviving the storms,

knowing I could get up again after a fall.

 

Then it feels the 20 that followed,

were raising others,

first in my work,

then in my flesh and bones,

birthing,

feeding,

guiding.

Providing shade and sustainance for the seedlings,

proecting them from storms,

and helping them find roots of their own.

 

Then,

As they learn to stand,

alone,

whilst we three woven still,

mycelial

in our underground connections,

I wonder what for interlude,

before I return to the earth,

as compost,

recycled

in the moist soil.

 

I wonder if

I am lucky enough to be gifted

20 years more

to nurture the world.

 

Nothing grandiose,

but standing with the unheard,

uprooted,

polluted.

 

Lending my ear,

my hand,

my voice,

my home,

my learning,

 

Sharing

what has grown in me

in the service

of something beyond

my time

and space

paying love forward

to the offspring

who come

20

+

20

+

20

years hence.

 

Thank you Jo Ebrey for taking that photo too many years ago.